


Resurrection

by Skierunner



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 3rd Limited POV, Content Warnings By Chapter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone shows up or gets mentioned at least once, F/M, Fandom Blind Friendly, Found Family, Gen, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, I'm serious about that ensemble tag, M/M, McCree Hanzo and Genji are POV characters, Multi, Plot Centric, Sci-Fi, Slow Burn, Team Dynamics, buckle up this is a long ride, doing Blizzard's job for them god dammit, internally consistent timeline, nutrionally balanced relationships, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 155,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skierunner/pseuds/Skierunner
Summary: When Genji learns that Overwatch is reforming, he knows *exactly* how to help his brother redeem himself. Brother’s consent not required.Jesse McCree knows Genji has more enthusiasm than sense and if he didn’t watch his back, it’d only be a matter of time before he ended up dead. Especially with Genji’s bastard brother involved.Though it takes some convincing, Hanzo Shimada finally accepts that Genji is truly alive and dedicates himself to ensuring his younger brother’s happiness. Grudging best friend notwithstanding.If they can’t figure out how to work as a team, Overwatch might not survive long enough to last the month, let alone long enough to unravel Talon’s plans to plunge the world into chaos and ruin.





	1. Recall

Jesse McCree hesitated in the doorway. The impressive conference room dwarfed the few agents seated around the table. All six of them had their backs to him, attention fixed on Overwatch’s leader apparent. Jesse had heard of Winston, of course. Few former agents hadn’t. How often does an organization adopt a literal moon gorilla into its ranks, after all? Winston had his back turned to him as well, indicating with a large hand specific points of interest on his presentation, stumbling over his own pre-rehearsed speech. Of all the people who could have initiated a Recall, he wouldn’t have pinned the timid scientist as the one to finally push the red button.

The rest of the agents he knew by more than just reputation. He could see Lena sitting towards the front, the former RAF pilot twirling her stylus thoughtlessly as she blankly stared at the charts on screen. Doc Ziegler hunched over a paper notepad, writing illegible sentences and frequently glancing up at the holovision. Torbjörn Lindholm’s short stature nearly hid him from Jesse’s line of sight, but the aged engineer’s constant grumbling ensured his discovery. Lindholm’s lifelong friend Reinhardt Wilhelm sat near the front, squinting out of his one good eye, his hulking body undoubtedly blocking the screen for his reasonably sized goddaughter-turned-assistant Brigitte.

It was the final member that gave him pause—Genji Shimada, ex-Yakuza heir, fratricide survivor, literal ninja, and the best damn friend he’d ever had. He nearly buckled under the onslaught of emotions, regret and shame forefront among them. The weight of abandoning his comrades all those years ago bore down on him mercilessly. He took a step back. He had no right to be here. Silently as he arrived, he left the room, none the agents wiser of his return. 

Except one.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"I thought that I might find you here." The voice behind him was quiet. Jesse didn’t need to turn around to know who had followed him to the roof of the comms tower. Genji remained the only human being to ever successfully sneak up on him. His synthesized voice was a dead giveaway, too.

"Can't say the same of you, old friend."

"You speak of my presence with the new Overwatch." Genji's streamlined form slid into his peripheral vision. Jesse merely nodded his response. They sat there for a while, watching freighters glide across the sea.

He took a moment to study the cyborg out the corner of his eye. Not much was outwardly different. Perhaps a few mechanical pieces had been replaced. Maybe that nick on his visor had been there before Jesse left. Maybe it hadn't. The details of Genji’s carapace were not what captured his interest, however. The cyborg wore no clothes. Not that he was naked--he was covered in light-weight armor after all-- but Jesse remembered how insistent Genji had been to blend in with other people as much as possible. How desperate the young Japanese man had been to retain his humanity. He remembered how angry Genji had always been. How angry they _both _had been. They had raged at the world together for a time, back before it all went to shit. "Why are you back, Genji?"

"Why are you?"

Jesse chuckled at his knee-jerk challenge. "I don't rightly know. Guess I was lonesome. Nine years on the run is a long time to be without friends." Jesse frowned, reaching into his leather jacket to withdraw a cigarillo. "Long time."

His friend turned to face him, visor glinting in the daylight. "I looked for you. When you left, we were not sure why. Some believed that you returned to Deadlock. Some thought that you were dead. I did not know what to think. Even after the Swiss Headquarters, I could not connect the circles."

Jesse shot him an amused glance. "Dots."

"Hm?" Genji tilted his head in question.

"It's 'connect the dots', not circles." He grinned around his cigarillo.

Electronic chuckles filled the space between them. "Forgive me, it has been some time since I have spoken English." The cyborg paused for a moment before continuing. "I have been with the Shambali in Nepal. I have learned a great deal from the masters there. It was only after I learned to accept my own anger-- after I had learned to accept _myself-- _that I could understand others." Genji stared out over the ocean again. "You were always better at understanding people. I used to envy you for it. I counted it as a failure of my new body, when it was instead a failure of my own person." Jesse turned his head to the ninja, brows raised in surprise. "You were the first to see the cracks in Overwatch. What many saw as a temporary fissure between Reyes and Morrison you saw as a harbinger of the earthquake to come." Genji shook his head. "By the time I understood this, it had been years since your disappearance. I had no hope of tracking you, but I tried anyway." Now his friend turned towards him, lifting a hand to his faceplate and sliding the visor away. The flesh was still scarred from both cuts and burns, but his eyes were bright with life. "Please forgive me for not being there for you, Jesse McCree."

He paled. It was too much. After a decade on the run with only passing acquaintances, after hundreds of nights with only his thoughts for company, it was too much to look his best friend in the face. A best friend who was laying bare his emotions, asking for forgiveness, long after Jesse had convinced himself that they had all forgotten him. So he did the only thing he could in the situation. "I hope this isn't you tryin' to recreate Brokeback Mountain. You're pretty and all, but I don't think I'm your type."

Genji's lips twitched into a smile. "I see that you are the same as ever." He slid the visor back into place. "I am afraid I must ask forgiveness again, for I do not believe you."

"About you bein' pretty or me not bein' your type? Because unless you started battin' for my team--"

Genji playfully swatted the back of Jesse's head. "About the reason for your return. If companionship is what drove you here, you would not have left without announcing yourself.

He sighed. "Guess you weren't lyin' about learnin' from the Shambali. You never used to be this perceptive." He took a long draught from his cigar, contemplating his answer. "I wasn't lyin', either. It's just a little more complicated than loneliness. I've only ever belonged to two places: Deadlock and Blackwatch. When Overwatch put out the call, I thought I could belong again. But it ain't the same." He laughed to himself. "Of course it ain't the same, not when almost all of the original members are rottin' in forgotten graves." Jesse stood abruptly before slowly pacing around the rooftop. "I think it's better this way, though. Even when I first joined Blackwatch, the organization was dying. Tearing itself apart from the inside. The young folk in that meetin' room, they don't know. Winston, Lena, Doc Ziegler, Reinhardt’s protégé, they don't remember. Well, maybe Doc… But it’s a good thing they don’t, because if they did they'd make all the same mistakes again. Overwatch is reborn from the ashes, but I'm not meant to be a part of it. I'd just help poison it all over again."

Genji did not move, perched on the edge of the roof, watching patiently as Jesse aired his grievances. "Would that not be true for me, as well?"

Jesse smiled at him. "Naw. I mean, look at you. You're a born-again man. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you were a born-again virgin, too." Genji snorted. "I don't know. Maybe it does apply to you. But you don't have any of that anger that you were holdin' on to in the old days. I do."

Genji hummed contemplatively. "Perhaps. Perhaps it would be easier to heal if you acknowledged your anger for what it truly is.” Jesse glanced at him sharply, but the little shit didn’t give him a chance to call him out. “What do you intend to do now?"

He shrugged. "I guess go back to the States. Keep on keepin' on." Even as he said it, he could feel his chest clench painfully. The idea of having to lay low for the rest of his life _hurt_. He never meant for it to be a permanent solution, but the small bounty on his head had only grown larger and larger after Overwatch fell-- until he had no other choice but to hide.

Genji stood. "I believe that you have made an error in your judgments, Jesse."

"How's that?"

"I have not rejoined Overwatch."

Jesse could only stare and repeat himself. "How's that?"

"I came here to Gibraltar to find you. I have one more task to complete before I will be ready to return." Genji stood, laying a hand on Jesse's shoulder and looking up at the tall American. "I have a proposal."

"So you _are _battin' for my team."

"Jesse be serious." Genji paused, presumably to recollect himself. "I want your help in finding my brother.”

He stared at his best friend, dumbfounded. “You mean, to kill the bastard, right?” Jesse was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the situation. Both he and Genji had returned to Watchpoint: Gibraltar without actually returning to Overwatch. Genji was here specifically for Jesse. For his help. For his help finding the piece of shit that tried to turn Genji into a sushi dish. Even if he didn’t understand exactly how the circumstances ended up like this, he sure as hell knew what to do from here. “Hell yeah, I’ll help you track him down!”

“Not quite. I want to find him and bring him to Overwatch.”

Jesse narrowed his eyes at Genji, but his damnable faceplate betrayed nothing. “Is this one of those ‘only the law can judge him’ things? Because the death penalty was abolished in 2032 and that’s the only thing that fucker deserves.”

“Hear me out. My brother left the Shimada soon after my—ah, the incident. At the time, we thought that he had gone into hiding.” Jesse nodded. Genji’s sole purpose in his second life had been hunting down his murderous brother and tearing down everything and anything associated with the Shimada-gumi. There had been countless Blackwatch missions and operations, but they never managed to find the head of the Shimada clan.

“So you want to capture him so we can make sure there’s nothin’ left of the old clan? Because we can do that without takin’ him back here. All we need is a soundproof basement, two weeks, and a Blackwatch Q&A kit.”

Genji’s voice hardened, “Jesse, we are not torturing my brother!” There was a brief pause, and his next words were more patient, although the underlying sharpness remained. “I already know where he is and I have contacted him. I believe he has suffered enough for his transgressions.”

“You believe—you’ve _contacted him_?” Jesse spluttered. “You mean in-person, _mano e mano_, shootin’ range contact? We spent years lookin’ for that piece of shit! So not only do you know where the son of a bitch is-- you left him _alive_?!”

“You are not listening! I have seen him. I have watched him for months now. He is not the same man as the one that cut me down. He is broken and hollow. He returns to my grave every year on the anniversary of my death! Are those not the actions of a repentant man? He deserves the same second chance that I received.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Jesse tore his hat from his head for emphasis. He turned away from Genji and stalked to the edge of the roof, glaring at the sea. There was a lengthy pause while Jesse stewed.

“What right do you have to pass judgment on him?” Genji’s voice was gentle, bordering on serene. “You were not the victim of his crimes. I am. I have forgiven him. Is that not all that matters?”

Jesse replaced his hat before lighting another cigarillo to cover his silence. He thought back to Genji’s rescue and subsequent recovery in intensive care. He remembered first seeing the grotesque body and mistaking it for a corpse. Genji’s skin had been flayed from his body, leaving only reddened and raw flesh behind. Deep cuts secreted both crimson blood and yellow plasma. Despite the severed limbs and medical instruments shoved into nearly every available orifice, it was Genji’s hair that broke Jesse’s heart. What was wildly styled and exotically colored in life had been reduced to a few lifeless patches of stringy hair, covered in bodily fluids. Genji had lived a vibrant life only to be betrayed by one of the few people he had trusted implicitly.

Maybe Genji had listened too closely to the Shambali. They were only robots who had no concept of familial obligations, nothing to resemble blood ties. Of course they wouldn’t know the duties of an elder sibling. They wouldn’t understand the completely unforgivable nature of fratricide—intentional or not. Jesse turned back to Genji. The cyborg waited patiently, his faceplate ever impassive. Jesse sighed.

“Lemme get this straight. You found your brother. You followed him, watched him, and presumably gathered information on his habits from others,” Genji nodded in confirmation. “You decided that he is either a changed man or so torn up over his actions that he might as well be one.” Another nod. “You believe that he deserves both forgiveness and a second chance.” Yet another nod. “Why do you need my help for that?”

“My brother… does not quite believe that I am truly alive. He does not believe he deserves forgiveness—“

“At least one of you has sense.”

Genji ignored the interruption. “—and even if he did, I do not think that he knows how to seek it. That’s why I want to bring him to Overwatch. We can help save the world as brothers and... perhaps save him in the process.”

“I don’t remember you always bein’ so idealistic,” he grumbled. 

Genji again chose not to respond. 

Jesse weighed his options. He had no desire to help redeem the bastard older brother, but he knew very well that Genji was incredibly well-suited to single-minded determination. The ninja would go off on this hare-brained scheme with or without Jesse if it meant he could rescue his brother, but he’d have a much better chance of living through it if Jesse tagged along. He shook his head disbelievingly.

Genji’s posture deflated, interpreting Jesse's silence as a refusal. 

Jesse peered into the green stripe across the visor that shielded Genji's eyes. “When do we leave?”

Excitement and joy colored the ninja’s next words: “Right away.”


	2. Rival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting from mobile, formatting might be a little wonky. Please let me know if you see somethin weird!
> 
> Content warning: combat related injuries

Jesse cussed and crouched a little lower behind the marble column as bullets flew overhead, biting into the stone and sending debris clouding through the air. Why the fuck did he agree to this? He could hear Genji taunting the mercenaries, trying to draw fire away from Jesse’s position. He scowled and hissed into the comm. “The hell are you goin’, Genji?”

It took a moment for the ninja to acknowledge him. Judging by the burst of gunfire Jesse knew he was probably deflecting a volley of bullets. When the cyborg finally responded, his breathing was slightly ragged. “The guards were already looking for an intruder. I suspect my brother has completed the hit he was here for, but has not yet escaped.” There was another pause, and Jesse took the opportunity to dart out from cover. He got off three shots—two hits—before he dove behind another column. “—you are better in enclosed spaces, so I’ll draw them away while you find my brother.”

“What? No! Genji, he’s _your _stupid fuckin’ brother and this is _your _stupid fuckin’ mission, so _you _find him!” Jesse listened intently for a reply, pressed against the solid marble, but it never came. The little shit. He loaded his last six rounds of ammo into Peacekeeper’s chamber and peeked around the column. The mercenaries were gone, likely giving chase to his partner. The villa was massive, balanced on a cliff high above the ocean. Sly dog that he was, Genji would probably try to trick his pursuers into diving over the precipice.

Jesse went over his mental map. The elder Shimada was working an assassination contract on an Italian Mafiosa. Genji said that his brother would likely attempt to kill the woman while she was alone, but she was rarely such. Even when she retired to her chambers she regularly chose one of her guards to accompany her. The only time she dismissed her guards entirely was during her nightly baths. The bathing room adjoined her bedroom on the second floor of the cliff-side, southeast tower. It was interior facing, with no windows; the only entrance was through her sleeping quarters. Intricate wrought-iron bars covered all the cliff-facing windows of the bedroom, ultimately leaving the stairway as the only avenue of approach. Genji asserted that his brother would have no issue sneaking in undetected, and would leave through the basement. Apparently, there was some sort of ancient exit from the cellar to the cliff. Jesse couldn’t figure how the Shimada planned to scale down five hundred feet of rock undetected, but Genji had only laughed when he brought it up.

Well, if Shimada had already killed the woman, he’d either be on his way down to the cellar or on his way down the cliff. Jesse cautiously jogged to the villa’s kitchen, which housed one of the two entrances to the basement. There still wasn’t any sign of opposition, but he wouldn’t be caught unawares. He peeked into the kitchen window. It was dark within, but it appeared empty. Opening the door slowly to keep it from creaking, he slipped inside. Unsure of the exact location of the entrance, he scanned the spacious kitchen. No sign of a stairway here. He spotted a walk-in pantry and crept to it, careful not to scrape his boots on the stone floor. It took him a moment to find the trap door peeking out underneath a pile of crates filled with fresh greens. He bodily shoved the crates aside, wincing at the grating sound. He paused after the door was clear, listening for any footsteps. 

Nothing.

He heaved up the solid wooden hatch, letting it rest against the crates, before squinting down into the cellar. It was nearly pitch black. There were no sounds emanating from inside, but that didn’t put Jesse at ease. He counted to five before deciding that there wasn’t anyone down there. 

Probably.

Left hand on his flash bang grenades, right hand fingering Peacekeeper’s trigger, he descended the stairs. He made it to the bottom stair without incident, but as he stepped onto the flagstone floor the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He whipped to his left, throwing his flash bang before diving further into the cellar, eyes squeezed shut. The sound of the grenade exploding set his ears ringing. Opening his eyes, Jesse aimed the muzzle of his revolver at his assailant—only to be attacked from behind.

He found himself on the ground, Peacekeeper skittering out of reach and out of sight. The attacker on his back shoved an arm underneath Jesse’s neck. He reflexively ducked his chin to prevent a blood choke before rolling to his back, trapping his attacker beneath him. Jesse jabbed his elbow sharply into his assailant’s chest, hard enough to break at least one of the man’s ribs. Suddenly, there were hands on his face attempting to suffocate him. Jesse threw his head back, hearing a sickening crunch as the man’s nose broke. The man’s grip only barely loosened, but it was enough for Jesse to force his escape. He darted across the floor on hands and knees, fingers frantically searching for Peacekeeper. There was a small clink as his left hand landed upon the smooth metal barrel and he seized upon it.

Jesse fanned the hammer in the direction of his attacker. He froze there, chamber empty, barrel smoking, and listened.

“_Ryuu…_” The voice was choked and wet, straining against the pain Jesse had inflicted. “_Ryuu ga…_” He felt white hot rage as he recognized the language. He holstered his weapon and strode towards the voice. He reached into the darkness, and dragged the man up by his hair with his cybernetic arm, his flesh arm producing a lighter. Light flared between the two and Jesse stared hatefully as his suspicions were proven true. Bloodied, bruised, and haggard, Shimada Hanzo stared back.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo winced as light attacked his eyes. He blinked rapidly to adjust, only to freeze at the sight that awaited him. The man wore an expression of utter disgust and hatred, thrown into sharp relief by the singular light source. His lips were twisted into a snarl, his eyes narrowed nearly to slits. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly, low, and _livid_.

“Shimada fucking Hanzo. Course it is. Given your brother’s talent, I expected more of ya.”

An American accent in the heart of Italy startled Hanzo, but not nearly as much as the mention of his brother. He tried to snarl back into the American’s face, but it came out as a strangled grimace. The American was not impressed. He extinguished the light and began dragging Hanzo to the stairs, still tugging him by his hair.

Hanzo struggled to understand this twist in events. The infiltration of the villa was no more difficult than Hanzo expected it to be. The Mafiosa put up a better fight than he had credited her for, even managing to shove a small blade into his ribs, but she was unpracticed and weak. With the knife still lodged in his side, he managed to sneak into the cellar before the muffled sounds of gunfire reached his ears. It had worried him. He operated independently; no one should have known he was here for at least another hour once the Mafiosa’s body was discovered. He had intended to make a quick escape down the cliff, but with a knife in his side it would take him more time than he might possess. He had huddled in a corner, carefully extracted the knife, discarded the bloodied blade on the floor, and dug out a sealing ointment that instantly closed the wound, although it did not heal the internal damage.

That’s when he heard scraping above his head. Someone was trying to enter from the kitchen. He weighed his options. Perhaps they were trying to use the cellar as a shortcut to the other side of the villa, without crossing open ground. It is unlikely anyone suspected he was here and it was dark enough that most people wouldn’t be able to spot him. Reaching his decision, Hanzo slowed and quieted his breathing as he waited for the guards to enter the basement.

It took longer than he expected; the guards were moving quietly as if to avoid detection. Perhaps this was a rival family instead? The light from the kitchen was dim, barely penetrating the darkness that surrounded him, but it did outline the figure descending the stairs. The man was very tall. He couldn’t see the man’s face and his body shape was odd, as if he was wearing a short cape or shawl. There was no mistaking the menacing gleam in his extended arm, however. He certainly wasn’t one of the Mafiosa’s men. Hanzo hadn’t brought additional weapons—he didn’t want to weigh himself down or leave any evidence of his involvement and had therefore opted to drown the Mafiosa. The confidence that had previously assured him he could complete an assassination without weapons now felt suspiciously like arrogance. His thoughts flashed to the knife freshly extracted from his side and he quietly inched to where he discarded it.

The man on the stairs whipped around, throwing something the size of Hanzo’s fist in his direction. Abandoning the knife, Hanzo dove behind a massive wine cask. A loud bang echoed in the small space, accompanied by a brilliant white flash. Hanzo quickly padded to the opposite wall behind his attacker before switching to the offensive. 

He had lost. 

Now here he was, trapped. Eyeing his oversized captor, he privately admitted that he should not have put so much stock in his fighting abilities against a fresh enemy.

He stumbled as the man dragged him along into the kitchen. The American raised his free hand to his ear: “I’ve got him, time to go. Did you shake ‘em or do we gotta leave quietly?” He couldn’t hear the reply, but he saw the American narrow his eyes again. “If you’re gonna sass me like that, I’ll just toss him over the cliff.” 

Hanzo’s eyes darted about his surroundings, searching for a weapon or escape route. There was nothing he could access quickly enough, especially considering his abductor still possessed a gun. Perhaps if he got close enough to the knife block… Suddenly, the painful grip on his hair released. Unprepared, Hanzo dropped to the floor before scrabbling out of his captor’s reach.

“I see you eyein’ them knives. Wanna take a shot at me? Go ahead. Make my fuckin’ day.” The American leered at him from across the kitchen. His right hand rested deceptively easy on the handle of his—was that a revolver?

He let his eyes dart to the knife block before flicking back to the other man warily. “Why do you not kill me now?”

The man frowned unhappily. “Because my dumbass friend thinks you’re worth savin’ or some shit.” Hanzo watched him thumb the hammer of his revolver impatiently. “The way I see it, there ain’t much difference between draggin’ a corpse and draggin’ an unwillin’ man. Matter of fact, corpses put up less of a fight.” The American lazily drew his weapon and aimed it between Hanzo’s eyes. “So how d’you wanna get out of here? Draggin’ or walkin’?”

He stood stiffly, attention fixed on the barrel staring him in the face. “I believe I would prefer to walk.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It took them nearly half an hour to reach the panel van even though they traveled at a brisk pace. Jesse would be a liar if he said that he didn’t take joy in Shimada’s pain and discomfort. By the end of their short journey, the Japanese assassin was clutching his side and wheezing with effort. He couldn’t see any injuries thanks to the man’s head-to-toe, all-black apparel, but he thought one side seemed damp with blood. He hoped it was serious.

“There you are!” He glanced up to see Genji hopping out of the driver’s seat. The cyborg paused at the sight of his struggling brother. “_Anija_…” Genji glanced at Jesse before switching to Japanese. He shrugged indifferently. If Genji wanted privacy for his little family reunion, he could have it. 

Leaving the brothers in favor of the van, he snatched his hat off the passenger seat and returned it to its rightful place on his head. He dug in the glove box for his emergency ammo and frowned when he only came up with two twelve-round boxes. He had been running low for weeks. Hopefully he could ask Winston for some money when they returned to Overwatch, but he still had to pay for his food and the past winter hadn’t been particularly fruitful for his wallet…. The sound of raised voices forced him to reluctantly abandon his ruminations.

Genji saw him first. “Jesse! Tell him that I am who I claim to be.” Shimada huffed angrily.

“Why? You tryin’ to claim you’re the Japanese James Bond again?” Genji spluttered in outrage. Jesse glanced at Shimada and raised his voice to be heard over the cyborg’s indignance. “This here is Genji. He used to have a family name before his only brother robbed him of his life. I suspect you know more about that than I do, though, Shimada.”

Shimada gritted his teeth, but Jesse couldn’t tell if it was in anger or pain. “Do not call me that.”

“Would you rather I call you brother-killer?” 

Shimada lunged, only to stop short and collapse to the ground.

Genji had also rounded on Jesse, likely to reprimand him for his behavior, but dropped to Shimada’s side at the sight of his struggle. “_Anija_! What is wrong?” Shimada could only gasp for air. Genji looked up at him. “Help me put him in the back.” Jesse sighed. He turned back to the van and threw open the rear doors before returning to Genji, who was trying to examine his brother’s wounds.

“Don’t do that on the dirt. He’s gonna be muckin’ up my van as is, don’t need to make it worse. Let’s get him loaded up.” Genji nodded, taking one side as Jesse took the other. Despite the man’s short stature, Shimada was fairly heavy. With a grunt, they managed to slide him on the bed of the van, blood streaking a stain beneath his tense figure. Genji clambered up into the van beside his brother, the cramped space barely large enough for the two. He reached to remove the clothes obstructing the wound, only to have his hands slapped away by Shimada. Genji grunted indignantly before trying again, only to be pushed away once more.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—move, Genji.” Jesse took the cyborg’s place hovering over the assassin. He locked eyes with the wounded man. “You know I’d rather you die than have you bleed all over my van, right?” Shimada held Jesse’s stare, but did not respond. Neither did he resist when Jesse began to peel away the layers of clothes. The jacket came off first. He didn’t bother removing it completely, only unzipping it and removing Shimada’s arms from the sleeves and leaving it at that. He eyed the loose, long sleeved shirt underneath. It’d be easier to cut him out of it. Genji had shuriken that could do the job. On the other hand, it’d probably be more painful for Shimada if he made him take it off normally.

Without warning the other man, Jesse heaved him up by the shoulders. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and jerked upwards and Shimada shouted in pain.

“Jesse, stop hurting him!”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’, he was like this when I found him!” Shimada shot him a glare. He countered it with a smug smirk. “Well, mostly like this.” Shimada’s torso now bare, Jesse could examine the wounds. His right side was purpling from where Jesse had elbowed him in their fight. He pressed his fingers against it, eliciting a hiss from Shimada. “Well, it’s definitely broke, but it’s a clean break. Whatever strong, handsome fella gave you this did a fine job.” His patient began spitting a lengthy string of Japanese at him. “Aw, don’t be so ornery.” Jesse dug his fingers into the broken rib a little bit harder. Shimada clenched his jaw shut so fast it popped.

“Jesse McCree, if you do not stop torturing my brother instead of _treating _him, I will feed you your own intestines!” Genji couldn’t see what Jesse was doing, anxiously peeking over the larger man’s shoulder, but he could certainly hear his brother’s enraged insults.

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Yes, _ma_.” He turned his attention to the Shimada’s left side and let out a low whistle. An intricate tattoo covered his entire arm, beginning at the wrist before snaking its way up his arm and encompassing most of his left pectoral. “That’s some pretty impressive art. Shame they wasted it on you.” 

His eyes traveled lower to the angry purple blot swelling at the bottom of Shimada’s rib cage. A thin, white line a few inches wide stretched across his skin, evidence of a knife wound sealed by insta-gel. Jesse was honestly surprised that the wound hadn’t reopened during their trek to the van. It would have been healthier for the assassin than allowing the blood to pool within his body. He reached into his boot and removed a short knife from its holster. Without preamble or ceremony, he quickly sliced across the skin, following the path of the white line. Blood wept from the wound and Shimada sighed noisily—whether from pain or relief, Jesse didn’t care.

“Is that all? Doesn’t seem like enough to take down a Shimada. You should’ve seen Genji after you sliced him to ribbons. He was _still _trying to crawl after you when we rescued him.” Shimada blanched. Jesse raised his voice so Genji could hear. “Yep, this ain’t bad at all. We can throw a biotic emitter on it and call it a day. Although I suppose we should take off his pants for a thorough examination.” Shimada flushed, the deep red quickly replacing his previously pale expression. Jesse laughed viciously.

“You have molested my brother enough for one day, Jesse.” Genji didn’t bother keeping the irritation out of his voice this time. Jesse only shrugged and extracted himself from the back of the van. Genji already had the emitter in hand, popping the lid and placing it close to Shimada’s torso. The injured man forcefully reset his nose, clearly practiced in bio-emitter healing. A golden light filled the van as the BE went to work repairing Shimada’s wounds. “Rest now, _anija_. We will return to our hotel and discuss our next move.”

Jesse grinned wolfishly, already resolving to hit every pothole on the way. Genji closed the rear doors of the van before holding up a pair of keys. “I will be driving.” He cursed and belatedly patted down his pockets, wondering with no small amount of irritation when the ninja had pilfered them. Jesse pouted for the entire slow, smooth drive to the hotel.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

If Hanzo had to summarize his entire mental state in one word, he’d probably go with bewildered. Or perhaps concussed. He was propped up against soft pillows in a luxurious Italian hotel watching an American cowboy and Japanese omnic ninja argue over the last complimentary mint. He had passed out somewhere along the drive, utterly exhausted. His captors haven’t noticed that he’d regained consciousness and he was perfectly content to remain unnoticed. If only he were so lucky.

Hanzo made no move, changed nothing about his pattern of breathing, but the omnic’s face zeroed in on his wakefulness anyway. “_Anija_, how are you feeling?” Hanzo’s face twisted into a scowl. Even knowing that this omnic’s AI was only an approximation of his dead brother, he could feel ill-fated hope beat optimistically in his chest. “That bad, huh?” The omnic’s designers must have thought a forgiving facsimile, full of sweetness and understanding would be able to worm its way into Hanzo’s trust better than a more faithful portrayal. They would have been better off not trying to recreate his brother at all.

“Hey, he’s talkin’ to you.” The cowboy flicked the mint, hitting its mark square between Hanzo’s eyes.

“Fuck you,” Hanzo growled.

The man sneered. “You offerin’?” Hanzo felt his face flush hot and switched his gaze to the omnic.

“Do not antagonize him, Jesse.” The robot perched himself on the corner of the bed, cross-legged. “Have you thought about my offer, _anija_?” Too late, Hanzo attempted to block the memories of his most recent visit to Genji’s shrine.

Recollections of a frenzied confrontation, dragons electrifying the night air, familiar brown eyes glinting from a synthetic body—“No.”

The robot’s body language shifted. Its shoulders dropped slightly and its head tilted subtly to the left, exuding an air of disappointment. “Why will you not fight alongside me?”

“You are not my brother. You are a machine and an insult to his memory!”

An electronic sigh was his only warning before the omnic removed its faceplate. Unlike their last encounter, both the upper and lower portions slid soundlessly from their latches. The face beneath was scarred nearly beyond comprehension. Hundreds of fine lines tracked across his face, interrupted only by shiny patches of burn scars. The man—no, the _omnic’s skin mask_—had no eyebrows. His nose was misshapen with a large chunk missing from the tip. Hanzo had to commend the artist responsible for this horror. “This face is real, brother. Here,” Genji leapt from the bed and walked to its head. “You may touch the skin. It doesn’t hurt.”

Hanzo recoiled sharply into the soft bed. “No. No.” He could hear the ragged edge in his own voice. Genji was dead. He couldn’t be alive. He saw the carnage! His head spun sickeningly. Because if… if Genji still lived and Hanzo had spent all his time avenging a spirit instead of appeasing the living… He closed his eyes, forcefully willing the vertigo to subside. “I do not believe you.”

The man—the omnic? his brother? _Genji_?—threw his hands up in exasperation and rolled his eyes. “Why? Why is it so impossible that I could have survived?”

Hanzo struggled for a reason, grasping at any plausible explanation that strayed too close to his frantic mind. “The medical technology necessary—no one could have found you soon enough.” Hanzo winced when he realized he was already referring to the cyborg as if he was Genji. “No one could have saved _Genji _from his wounds. They were too severe.”

“Is that what it would take? Do I need to bring you to the doctor who saved my life and show you the medical records? Answer honestly.”

Hanzo crossed his arms, ignoring the pain from his still very sore ribs. “No. All of these things can be forged. I will not be deceived.”

“Then _you _prove that I am dead.”

Hanzo blinked. “I visit Genji’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death.”

A snort drew Hanzo’s attention to the American leaning against the wall. “I think you mean his murder.” Hanzo chose not to rise to the bait.

“You say that you visit my grave. Is my body interred there?”

Hanzo felt a scowl slip into place. “No. Genji was cremated.”

“You witnessed this?”

“…No.”

“Then how do you know that he was?”

“They told me that they… made arrangements for Genji.”

“They? The Shimada-gumi? The clan that so effectively turned us against each other that we both committed capital sins?” Hanzo saw the cowboy’s gaze snap to Genji—the _omnic_, damn it all!—a look of confusion on his face. The omnic switched to Japanese. “_I never apologized for my actions leading up to that night, brother._” The ninja bowed deeply at the waist. “_I seek my own forgiveness as much as you seek yours._”

Hanzo breathed in sharply, blinking rapidly. Very few people knew the circumstances that lead to the brothers dueling in the middle of the Hanamura castle. Only the most high-ranking elders of the Shimada-gumi knew, and Hanzo had personally seen to their demise. It was not definitive proof. It was possible that whispers of a rumor made it out before Hanzo could tear his enemies’ tongues from their throats. But it was enough for him to believe that perhaps…

“Do with me as you will.” He swallowed thickly and turned away from Gen—from the man. “I would like to collect my personal effects from my safe house before you escort me to whatever prison you have fashioned for me.”

He listened as the man straightened from his bow. “Of course, _anija_. Please rest. We will depart for Gibraltar early in the morning.” Hanzo waited until both the ninja and the American had left before allowing the tears to fall.


	3. Regrets

Genji swung his legs cheerfully on the examination table in the medical bay. Sitting across the room on a waiting chair, face dour and dark, was Hanzo. He finally, _finally _managed to bring his brother to Overwatch. Not even Hanzo’s omnipresent scowl could distract him from his success! Even if he did technically abduct his brother to accomplish it. Genji was never one to bother with details.

Jesse stood by the window, occasionally peeking into the darkness outside. “Where is everybody? Didn’t Doc tell us to meet her here?”

Genji slipped off the table to stand next to Jesse before rolling up the blinds. “Oh, yes, I forgot to mention. Tonight Winston is—” The ground beneath their feet violently shook, and Jesse fell down with a yelp. A dull roar filled the air around them, steadily growing in volume, as a fiery light illuminated the medical bay. Long shadows danced behind Genji while Hanzo crouched on the floor, eyes wild.

“What in the _hell_!” As suddenly as they had begun, the earth’s vibrations slowed and vanished, altogether lasting for barely six seconds. Jesse attempted to rise to his knees beside him. Genji ignored his flailing, instead following the path of the shuttle lifting off in the distance, disappearing momentarily before surging above the crest of the Rock of Gibraltar.

“—launching a satellite,” Genji finished belatedly.

“Genji you little shit, you coulda said somethin’ sooner!” Jesse finally made it to his feet, hands shaking from adrenaline. “Damn it, I need a smoke.”

Genji laughed as Jesse removed a half-smoked cigar from a pocket. “Angela will not be happy if you smoke in here.” Jesse growled, angrily shoving his indulgence back into his pocket. Genji turned around to check on his brother. Hanzo had returned to his seat, each hand curled into a fist on his thighs. His eyes were closed and his breathing, while regular, was heavy. Genji almost felt bad for startling him. Almost. 

...perhaps he had not eradicated his resentment as well as he thought.

They waited for all of two minutes before Jesse’s fidgeting and cursing became too tiresome. “Just go outside and smoke,” Genji said. Jesse merely glared at Hanzo. Genji rolled his eyes. “He is unarmed. You will be less than five feet away. You will hear us if anything happens.” Jesse crossed his arms grumpily before succumbing to his addiction’s call. He extended his prosthetic arm to open the door, but it swung open of its own accord before he even touched the handle.

A surprised screech was Jesse’s only warning to duck before a purse swung through the space his head had just occupied. “Dear lord, woman!” He dropped to one knee, hands raised in the universal sign of surrender.

“Jesse?” The woman in the doorway blinked owlishly. Genji stared at her. Angela was just as beautiful as the day they had parted. Her golden hair was swept up in a utilitarian ponytail, errant strands framing her heart-shaped face. Her mouth was parted in a small ‘o’ of surprise, her blue eyes wide.

“How many handsome cowboys do you know, Doc?” Jesse smirked down at her, having returned to his full height. The small blush spreading on her cheeks spurred Genji to action.

“Angela! You are as stunning as ever.” The doctor turned her attention to Genji, and he reveled in the twin sparks of familiarity and affection in her eyes. _Suck it, McCree_!

“Genji! You were supposed to message me when you arrived.” Her tone was scolding, but her smile hadn’t dimmed.

“I wanted to surprise you!”

“At the cost of my head…” Jesse grumbled. Beneath his mask, Genji grinned.

Angela laughed. “Oh, hush, you would have been fine. You have a thick skull.”

“Hey, now!”

Angela waved him off. “And who is this?” She shifted her blue gaze to Hanzo, who stiffened under her scrutiny. Jesse’s expression darkened and opened his mouth to speak. Genji didn’t allow him the opportunity.

“This is my friend I told you about! He is joining Overwatch with us. Unfortunately, his last job left him a little, ah, bruised. Would you be so kind as to give him a checkup?” Even as he spoke, Angela moved to her cabinets to set down her bag, wash her hands, and pull out a New Patient folder.

“Of course! I’m starting our medical files anew. Unfortunately, we lost the cryptographic keys for the previous database so the majority of the old files are inaccessible. Everyone will have to schedule an in-processing appointment.” She patted the examination table, urging Hanzo to sit on it. He did so, warily eyeing everyone in the room. Genji and Angela both saw his hesitation, but she misinterpreted the admittedly justified suspicion as shyness instead. “In the interest of patient confidentiality, I must ask you and Jesse to leave the room until we are finished.” Predictably, Jesse opened his mouth to object. Again, Genji interrupted.

“Are you sure that is necessary? Well, Jesse should probably leave, but I am very anxious about his health.”

Angela’s eyes immediately narrowed. From experience, Genji knew she was generally trusting to a fault, nearly to the point of naiveté, but somehow could always tell when _he_ was edging on dishonesty. “What is going on?” Thinking he fast, he began to spin their cover story only for Angela cut him off with nothing but a raised hand. “Not you.” She turned to Jesse. “You.” Genji winced. Her lack of trust in him stung, but… she had good reason.

Jesse nodded in Hanzo’s direction with thinly veiled disgust. “That’s Shimada Hanzo. What more do you wanna know, Doc?”

Angela’s back went rigid. Her eyes flicked between the brothers and Genji’s stomach dropped when he saw her round on a heel and exit the medical bay entirely. He glanced at Jesse, who stood against the wall stoically avoiding his gaze. So be it. Genji darted out the door after the doctor.

She was standing just outside the medical bay, cradling her arms. He risked a soft touch on her shoulder, earning himself a half-hearted glare. “Why did you bring him here?”

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “He is my brother.”

Angela shook her head. “You lived through what he did to you, but _I _was the one that had to drag you back to the living. I was the one who slaved over your broken body eighteen hours a day for three weeks. You don’t understand how many times you came a thread’s width to dying! And then you just… bring him here? To _me_? And ask me to heal him?” Her arms tightened. “And your only justification is ‘he’s my brother’. He lost that title when he cut you down in your own home.” 

He frowned tightly. This is what he expected. He could not expect his loved ones to understand his change of heart. It had taken him _years_ of healing and tutelage under his Master before he was able to accept his share of responsibility… and blame. “He was not the only one at fault.”

“Yes, he _was_, Genji. Whatever you did to him didn’t leave him in a highly classified medical facility, subject to countless experimental cures! He tried to _kill _you,” she said, voice cracking. She rubbed her face with both hands.

Genji gently took her hands in his. “Didn’t you tell me? Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future. Does my brother not deserve the same chance at redemption?”

“I was referring to _you _when I said that,” she sniffed.

He shifted her hands into one of his before reaching up with his free hand to softly brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know. It does not make it any less true for him, though.”

Angela closed her eyes and sighed, leaning into Genji’s touch. “What do you want me to say? You didn’t warn me before you brought him here and you were fully prepared to lie about the circumstances. If you do not care for my opinion, why did you bring him into my care?”

Genji wrapped her in his arms. “No,” he whispered fiercely. “That is not true at all. You--” he swallowed the rest of the sentence. _You mean the world to me_. “Your thoughts mean the world to me, Angela. That is why it was so important that I bring him to you. That is why it was so important that I had _Jesse _assist me in bringing him to you. You two are family.” He paused and withdrew from their embrace enough to see her expression. “And I want Hanzo to be family again, too.” Angela’s face darkened. “I know he has done terrible, awful things in the past, but _so have I_. You do not wish to know the details of what I have done both in and out of service with Overwatch and I will respect that, but know that Hanzo has not done any worse.” Angela stared at the ground, silent. 

Genji squeezed her shoulder softly. He needed her. There was no version where he could do this on his own. If she wasn’t on his side, then Hanzo was already lost. “You were willing to forgive me once, is that still true?”

Angela wiped at her eyes and nodded. Though it pained him to not immediately comfort her, Genji waited, wanting a verbal response. “Fine, yes,” she sniffled. “It’s still true.”

“Then can you find it in your heart to give him the same chance?”

Angela finally looked at him and his heart spasmed at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. “You _swear_ to me that if he hurts you again, you are done. There will be no third chances.”

“I swear,” Genji said fervently. “I swear a thousand times.”

She nodded with an air of finality before taking a step back, breaking free of his touch. “I cannot promise anything,” she said, the cool, professional mask back in place. “But I will endeavor to treat him no differently than the other agents.”

Genji felt his lips break into a smile, but he knew she couldn’t see it. “That is the most I can ask for. Thank you, Angela.” He offered an arm. “Can I walk you back inside?”

She snorted, still trying to get her smudged makeup in order. “The door is barely five paces away.”

“Even so.” Genji stepped closer and tried not to giggle like a madman when she finally accepted his arm.

It was happening. It was _really _happening. Almost all of his family made it to Overwatch, including his brother, and the most important people in his life were willing to give Hanzo the second chance he so desperately needed. The future held so much promise!

They stopped short after opening the medbay door.

Shouts echoed into the night as Hanzo threw sharp medical instruments at Jesse, who deflected them with a raised metal tray. “Your aim is shit, _sweetheart_!” Hanzo snarled before hurling a scalpel just above Jesse’s head. Jesse let out a triumphant yell before realizing the blade had not missed its mark. Impaled in the wall behind him, his punctured hat hung limply. His face clouded over ominously. “You son of a bitch--!”

Genji watched the scene unfold bemusedly. “What was that other saying of yours? It is a long road to recovery?” Angela merely sighed.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

A knock on his door broke Hanzo out of his deep meditative state, but he refused to acknowledge the disturbance further. It was difficult to settle into a comfortable sitting position and the only ones who would disturb him were his captors. Regardless of which one was at his door, he felt no compunction to invite them inside.

The door creaked open anyway.

“Can I trouble you for conversation, _anija_?”

Hanzo cracked one eye open to see the cyborg—for he was at least partially human, he has determined—standing in the doorway. “Will my answer affect the outcome?”

“No,” the cyborg said cheerfully, entering Hanzo’s room without invitation and sitting in front of him. This, at least, was strongly reminiscent of the original Genji.

Hanzo heaved a sigh. “Can you not see that I am meditating?”

The cyborg removed his faceplate, revealing glittering eyes. “I can! Impeccable posture as always. Master Zenyatta would be thrilled if I could manage even half of your composure.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hanzo weighed out which question he wanted to ask first. “The Genji I knew would never submit to a master.”

“A shame, really. I certainly could have benefitted from a guiding hand in my youth.”

“Genji had many guiding hands. He simply chose to bite them.”

The cyborg shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the statement. “So, what are you meditating on today?”

Hanzo frowned and tucked his chin. What was he meditating on today? The same concerns as he had for the past two and a half days-- sorting through his conflicting emotions enough to properly reflect on his situation. It was difficult. It felt as though he was trying to keep his head above the ocean in a screaming typhoon. 

Frustratingly, Hanzo had not been left to this struggle alone. The cyborg had been incredibly bothersome and equally considerate: he insisted that he was Genji, but he acquisitioned Hanzo’s quarters even as Hanzo denied him. He constantly asked questions about Hanzo’s life, but also fetched him linens when Hanzo refused to answer. He monologued about his own ‘life’ but brought Hanzo food every day. He even offered a soft, squishy mat for Hanzo to meditate on for which he was... reluctantly grateful. Sitting _seiza _for extended periods of time was painful; sitting _seiza _on hard tile floor was unbearable. That is how he currently arranged himself, resting wakefully on folded knees, bright green mat underneath him, in a square of warm sunshine encouraging calm.

A calm that did not seem willing to attend him while the cyborg was present. “I am meditating on nothing in particular,” he finally answered.

“Ah, so you’re trying to figure out if I am telling the truth again.” Well. The cyborg was certainly _irritating_ enough to be Genji. “Is there anything you’d like to ask? I know how important evidence-based reasoning is to you.”

Anyone would know that. As a leader, Hanzo was infamous for his meticulous and thorough review of information. Inconsistencies rarely escaped his notice and if he determined it was the result of carelessness or ill intent, the punishment was always swift and merciless.

“Tell me something only Genji would know.”

The cyborg snorted. “So I can answer and you can invent reasons why anyone other than myself could have known? We did that yesterday.”

Hanzo did not dignify the statement with a response. It would have been difficult to track the information down, but it was still completely possible that a third party could have catalogued Genji’s dating history. With specific dates. And also Genji’s opinion on each partner. _Completely _possible.

“How about this,” the cyborg continued. “You ask me to tell a story that you _know_ has never been leaked and I will answer.”

Hanzo rolled his shoulders, thinking. What shared history could he guarantee had never been gleaned by others? In life, Genji had not been particularly tight-lipped. Secrets were no more sacred than a urinal to him. As far as Hanzo knew, the only memories Genji had actually treasured and preserved were from their days as children.

“Who was Hime?”

The cyborg’s lips stretched into a smile, pulling at the many scars on his face. “She was our kitten.” Hanzo’s face tingled faintly as the blood rapidly drained away. “We found her at the edge of the training yard one morning. Spring must have been ending, because I remember she was in a bed of cherry blossom leaves. Looking back, she must have been tiny, but we were still small ourselves.”

The room was shifting. Sliding. Hanzo blinked. Swallowed. Fought the nausea back down. “And what happened to Hime?” He heard himself ask.

“We raised her. Hand fed her milk until she was old enough that we could sneak scraps of fish out from the kitchens. She became one of the many strays that prowled the palace, keeping the grounds free of rodents. She disappeared after the earthquake. I never saw her after that.”

The vertigo was unbearable. It pitched Hanzo forward and he grasped at the fabric on his legs, desperately trying to keep himself grounded. _No one living knew this._ His lungs were desperate for air, huge shuddering gasps drawing in air was just too thin to sustain him. _No one._ Distantly, he was aware of hands on his back, of a voice telling him to breathe. _No one but Genji_.

“Breathe with me, _anija_.”

Genji was alive.

A wave of nausea crashed over him so hard that he almost didn’t make it in time to the waste bin one meter away.

Genji was _alive_.

Why? _How_?

He batted away the hand holding back his hair and whirled around. “How are you alive?”

Genji stood to take a step back, hands raised. “Overwatch,” he said calmly.

“Preposterous! I would have found you. The _Council _would have found you.”

“And yet, here I stand.”

“_Why?_” He asked, barely able to see past the rage. “Why are you here? The last we met it was with blade in hand. Why did you seek me out?”

“We are brothers,” Genji said, still enragingly calm.

“And that meant so much to you before,” Hanzo said bitterly. “What has changed that such a paltry sentiment would have you seek out your own killer?”

“I have.”

“To what end?!”

For the first time, Genji’s expression changed from the blank calm, briefly flickering to confusion. “I do not underst--”

“_What do you want from me?_” Hanzo grit out, appalled to feel hot liquid running down his face. “Is it not enough that I’ve mourned you? Is it not enough that I have sought atonement? What more can you ask of me that I have not already done?”

Genji crouched to his eye level, his gaze steady. “You have not forgiven yourself.”

The anger in Hanzo’s chest froze, transforming from buoyant outrage into an anchor of horror. “I have no right to do so,” he whispered.

“You have every right,” Genji argued gently. “I have already done so.”

Hanzo bowed his head, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“_Anija_,” Genji began, but then paused. “It has taken me many years to arrive at this point. Not just having you here, but getting myself to accept what happened to us. Learning to forgive you did not take nearly as long as learning to forgive myself.” Hanzo felt Genji’s hand fall upon his shoulder, but he felt too empty to react. He simply listened. “I did not learn on my own. I needed help.” A staticy sigh that sounded almost like a laugh filled the air between them. “A _lot_ of help. You have been alone for a long time now, _anija_. Please, let me help.”

Hanzo removed his hands from his eyes, letting them fall limply. It proved too difficult to hold Genji’s gaze, so he chose instead to contemplate the weather outside his window. The view was strangely blurred. He wiped at his eyes. 

The silence between them stretched, but Genji did not move or waver. Hanzo wasn’t sure how long he made them stay like that. It was strange. The world had stopped lurching. Everything now seemed hyperrealistic, sharp enough to cut, and he felt numb enough to test that. It was mere illusion. The waste bin did not cut his hand.

Finally, he turned back to Genji. “How would a walk sound?”

Genji’s voice was breathless, as if he feared he could shatter glass with the sound alone: “It sounds wonderful.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, carefully exploring each other and their own limits. Genji didn’t ask Hanzo about his departure from the Shimada-gumi. Hanzo didn’t ask Genji about his transformation. Neither spoke of the dreadful night that pushed them to opposite ends of the world. Hanzo found that once he allowed himself to know Genji that no detail, no matter how small, was anything less than precious. As he walked beside his brother along the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean, they spoke of Genji’s adventures in the glory days of Overwatch, what he did after its fall, and his infatuation with the resident doctor.

⟪That was the first moment that I thought you might actually be my brother.⟫ Hanzo said with a chuckle. They had abandoned English early in their conversation, taking comfort in their native tongue. Hanzo no longer felt like he was indulging in a lie to do it.

Genji laughed. ⟪Because I flirted with Angela? Not because I went to such great lengths to reach you and convince you to return with me? I traveled the globe three times over looking for you!⟫

⟪It’s not because you flirted with Angela so much as you redirected her affection from the cowboy to you. You always had a knack for being—what did you use to call yourself?—Mr. Steal Your Girl.⟫

At this, Genji spluttered. ⟪What! I wasn’t—Angela isn’t attracted to—McCree isn’t even straight!⟫

Hanzo’s step faltered. ⟪Please tell me he wasn’t serious about, ah, having relations with me.⟫

Genji snorted. ⟪Nah, he was just trying to bait you. He hates your guts.⟫ Now it was Genji’s turn to misstep, realizing he had accidentally broached the very topic they worked so hard to avoid.

Hanzo stopped in his tracks. ⟪Because of what I did to you.⟫ Genji didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Hanzo felt the lightness of his joy evaporate, replaced by the familiar weight of self-loathing. ⟪Thank you for accompanying me, Genji, but I fear that I have exhausted myself. I will return to my quarters now.⟫

Genji watched his brother turn away from the cliff. ⟪What about dinner? Would you like to eat with me?⟫

Hanzo paused for only a moment. ⟪No. Not today.⟫

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse wandered aimlessly through the base, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, hat tipped back. Boredom had set in quickly, with little entertainment around to alleviate it. Most of the Overwatch members could venture out into the city at the base of the mountain, but Jesse had sixty million dollars’ worth of reasons to stay out of public sight. None of the rec rooms were functional, having been turned into storage rooms, and he can only listen to Winston talk about science jargon for so long. That left walking.

Out of the corner of his eye, a glimmer of silver caught his attention. He abruptly turned off the paved road towards the cliff, ducking under the branches of an olive tree. Legs hanging off the edge of the precipice, Genji didn’t turn his head at Jesse’s approach.

“Well, if it ain’t the local Casanova. What are you doin’ out here? Did Angela get tired of your flirtin’?”

“Hello, Jesse.” The cyborg’s voice was flat, bordering on dejected.

He frowned down at Genji—still looking over the ocean, not physically acknowledging his presence. After a pregnant pause, he lowered himself down next to the ninja. “How are ya doin’?”

Genji breathed out an electric sigh. “Hanzo acknowledged me today.”

His frown deepened. Of course the fucker would still be causing Genji pain. Mutilating his body wouldn’t be enough, had to mutilate his mind, too. Unfortunately, Genji wouldn’t want to hear his condemnations against Shimada. “Mighty gracious of him,” he grit out. He didn’t have time to congratulate himself for his restraint before the rest spilled out. “Considerin’ you’ve been his damned housemaid since he arrived.”

Whether Genji ignored his tone or his statement entirely, Jesse didn’t know. “No, I mean as his brother. He called me by my name. We spent the whole afternoon talking.” Jesse’s eye twitched at the corner. The whole afternoon? Alone with the guy who nearly succeeded in killing him once before? Did he seriously need to escort him everywhere? “But I messed it up.” Genji flicked a small stone far into the distance.

Jesse wanted to reprimand him for being so careless. He wanted to yell at him for hanging his hopes on a man sake-bent and hell-bound. He didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when Genji needed him to be a sympathetic friend, rather than a protective older brother. “What happened?”

“I accidentally brought up the incident. He left right after. I do not know if he thinks that I do not forgive him or if he thinks that he does not deserve it.”

_Of course he don’t deserve it_. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,” he said instead.

Genji huffed a soft laugh. “I had forgotten how much I missed your cowboy sayings. Zenyatta—my master while I was with the Shambali—he used to say something similar. His was ‘though you may coax a sparrow to your hand, not all the bread in the world can make him sing.” Genji finally turned to face Jesse. “I invited him here, you know. I told him that Overwatch could use his skills.”

Jesse’s brows raised in surprise. “He a warrior monk? I thought Shambali were the non-violent type.”

Genji nodded his head. “Oh, they are. I asked him to be Overwatch’s spiritual guide.”

“Spiritual guide? What, like a chaplain?”

“I suppose. He also has basic medical training, so he could assist Angela. He was receptive to the idea, but he would need permission from the—ah, I’m not sure of the English word—the leader monk?”

“I getcha.” 

Genji turned his gaze back to the horizon and Jesse followed suit. The sun set on the other side of the mountain, but the gold, red, and brilliant blue hues still streaked the eastern sky. Cruise liners and massive cargo ships glided across the cerulean waters. Gulls wheeled overhead, searching for their roost for the night.

“And how are you, Jesse?”

“Just peachy,” he drawled. “Why d’you ask?”

“I have not seen you interacting with the others. I was wondering if it was just bad timing on my part.”

Jesse felt the discomfort of acknowledging his problems clutching at his lungs, but he barreled past it. “Yeah, the Old Guard is still wary. You, me, and Angela are the only three who _know _about Blackwatch, but all the old Overwatch heard rumors back in the day. Torbjörn watches me like I’m a fox in the hen house, and even Reinhardt gives me one of those searchin’ glances every so often.”

Genji nodded sympathetically. “Yes. It is easier for me, since I spent three years with Overwatch before the fall. The six months you spent with them before Reyes had you transferred back to Blackwatch was not enough to earn their trust.”

“I was lucky I got that much! Reyes wanted me back after _three _months, but I convinced him that you hadn’t been fully integrated to the new team. He may not have acted it, but he cared a lot about you.” 

Genji hummed, but offered no further response. The two watched the sunset die peacefully, content in their silence. Just as the first few stars began to glimmer overhead, the base’s intercom system crackled to life.

“Would all agents please meet me in the, uh, command conference room, please? Um, this is Winston. Uh, over. I mean, out!”

Jesse shared an amused glance with Genji at the timid scientist’s announcement before clambering to his feet. He offered his hand out to Genji and pulled the light-weight cyborg upright. “Let’s go see what our man from the moon wants.”


	4. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there's any confusion, I'm using ⟪This⟫ to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

The eight Overwatch agents chatted amiably amongst themselves as Winston fumbled with the holovid. Genji waved his arms about animatedly, recounting some story or another for Lena and Reinhardt. Brigitte and Torbjörn were having a rather loud discussion about the finer points of steel metallurgy, a recurring topic for the father and daughter. Angela sat near Genji, but her smile appeared strained. Jesse tilted his head at her questioningly. She pursed her lips before shaking her head and pointing at the presentation Winston had finally managed to project.

It was a satellite image of some sort of compound. There wasn’t a scale on the image, but based on the lone, heavy-duty truck in the photo, he guessed that it couldn’t have been larger than a square mile. The dull gray outlines were blurred at their edges by the white background. Squinting, Jesse wondered if it was sand or snow.

At the front of the room, Winston cleared his throat. “Good evening, everyone. My name is Winston, and tonight I’ll be briefing you all on our first mission since the Recall.” Lena let out a soft squeal of excitement. “This is an image from the WorldView-23 satellite. It’s a visible light spectrum photograph of Ecopoint: Antarctica.” Winston clicked to the next slide. The title read ‘Operation: Snowball’ and the text itself detailed the mission. In the lower left hand corner Winston had pasted a picture of the team. Six people stood around the South Pole, each holding a different national flag. They looked at the camera from under their furred hoods, sunglasses covering their eyes but not their grins.

“On October 5, 2042, a team of six scientists specializing in environmental research deployed to the Ecopoint to begin a two-year mission collecting data in the region. Three weeks before their departure date, a polar vortex moved into the area. It lasted for six weeks. No emergency operations could enter or leave the area, but the team sent a request on the twelfth day of the storm for extraction, pending the storm’s subsidence.” Winston took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “The fifteenth day of the storm was October 23, 2044.” The mood in the room plunged. Everyone could remember where they were the day the Swiss headquarters went up in flames.

“The rescue never came, did it?” Lena’s voice was the quietest Jesse had ever heard it.

“No,” Winston confirmed. “By the time everything was settled and the UN rediscovered the extraction request, it was two months after the original departure date. The team only had enough supplies to last for a week beyond the zero-day. The UN determined that there was no chance of survivors, issued letters of commendation and condolences to the families, and closed the case.”

Winston clicked to the next slide. It was almost entirely black, except for one small dot of bright white. “This is the same image as the first slide, except it is in the near-infrared spectrum. White denotes areas of much higher heat than the surrounding environment.” Jesse saw Lena sit upright, eyes bright with hope. “I’m not saying that there are survivors,” the gorilla said, preempting the obvious question. “I’m saying that there’s an aberrant heat signature that needs immediate investigation. I propose that we send a four-man team to Ecopoint: Antarctica with a primary mission of extracting relevant research and data from the databases. The secondary mission will be to confirm the deaths of the scientists. The tertiary mission is to bring back any survivors. Questions?”

“Can I go?” Lena could hardly contain herself, her outline shimmering as if the very air around her vibrated with excitement. Which was entirely possible, Jesse remembered. Anytime she got too excited her control over her place in the temporal plane slackened.

“Lena, you are the only qualified pilot here. You will be flying the team in and out of the Watchpoint. We will need a medic—that’s you, Dr. Ziegler.” Angela nodded her assent. “But the remaining two slots are for whoever volunteers.”

“I wish to travel with you!” Reinhardt’s voice boomed across the table, but Brigitte shook her head.

“Don’t mean to rain on your parade, big guy,” Lena smiled up at the admittedly massive German, “but we only have the Lark in our hangar. It’d be a mite cramped for you.”

“Ah!” Reinhardt butted his forehead with his palm. “I suppose you are right, little one.”

“I go where Reinhardt goes, or I do not go.” Brigitte folded her arms pointedly.

Torbjörn scoffed, but his expression was fond. “Knew I shouldn’t have let Reinhardt name you.” Brigitte scrunched her nose at him.

Genji raised his hand. “I will go.”

Jesse frowned. “Who’s gonna watch your brother?”

“He can come with us. It would make us four.”

Jesse’s jaw dropped. “You can’t take him with you!”

Genji’s voice took on an obstinate tone. “Why not?”

“He’s not trustworthy, he’s untested, and he_ tried to kill you_,” Jesse ticked off a finger with each point.

“How many times must I say this? I have forgiven him. We are moving past it.”

“You shouldn’ be!”

“Enough!” Torbjörn slammed the table with his fist. “I will go. You are trying to break into buildings that have been in freezing temperatures for more than five years. You will need a welder.”

Winston scratched his chest, a nervous action that almost always manifested during arguments. “That’s settled then. The team is Lena, Dr. Ziegler, Torbjörn, and Genji.”

Jesse stared at the gorilla incredulously. “It ain’t settled! Who’s gonna watch Genji’s brother?”

“Well, if you are so concerned,” Torbjorn said gruffly, “why don’t you do it yourself?”

“What an excellent idea, Mr. Lindholm!” Jesse wasn’t sure how a faceless man could communicate smugness using only his shoulders and head tilts, but Genji was nothing if not expressive. “There is no one better suited to guard my brother.”

“Genji, you little shit—”

“Meeting adjourned!” Winston hurriedly interjected, averting any escalation. “Lena, if you would stay and help me plan your flight and the logistics.”

“Of course, love!”

Jesse stood to confront Genji, but the ninja was already out the door. Jesse swore. “Genji! This isn’t over!” Synthetic laughter echoed in the halls as Genji made good on his escape.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse didn’t bother giving chase to Genji. Instead, he walked briskly down the base’s moonlit boulevard. It took him five minutes to reach the tunnel that housed the Watchpoint’s server stacks. Blue, red, and green status lights cheerily lit up the cavernous room like a miniature Mardi Gras. Grinning at his own analogy, Jesse strode to the command console on the back wall and inserted his old Blackwatch ID card.

“Good evenin’, Athena.”

The console’s screen booted quickly, displaying a pale blue background superimposed by the Overwatch symbol. An ethereal, feminine voice floated from the overhead speakers. “Greetings, Special Agent McCree.”

“I need to update the certs on my ID card, if you’d be so kind.” Jesse brushed off the somewhat dusty desk chair before sitting down wearily. “Also, I’m stayin’ in room 1-377, so if you could configure the lockin’ mechanisms to my biometrics, that’d be great.”

“Of course, Special Agent McCree.”

Jesse was only a little surprised that he still had the valid permissions on his card that allowed Athena to make these changes. Reyes would have been responsible for removing them, but if nothing else his old commander had been two things: paranoid and sentimental. When Jesse disappeared, Reyes would have hung on to his accounts to scour them for any hint or hair of his whereabouts. Even after months passed, Jesse could easily imagine him making excuse after excuse to put off submitting a Permissions Revocation Request. Jesse was sure Reyes would have come to terms with it eventually, but then Zurich happened…

“Special Agent McCree, I have updated your Blackwatch certificates and registered your biometrics to your room. However, I could not reactivate your Overwatch credentials without approval from an Overwatch agent.”

“Who still has those rights?”

“Currently, only Agent Winston has rights to add additional members to the roster.”

Jesse nodded. He expected as much. “That’s fine. Would you send him a request for me, darlin’? Let him know I need a new card, too.” Jesse paused. “Does Winston have access to the Blackwatch archives or any of their servers?”

“Negative. Current activated Blackwatch members are: Jesse McCree, Angela Ziegler, and Sombra.”

Jesse sat up. “Who the hell is Sombra?”

“Retrieving files… Access denied. You must have elevated permissions to access this agent’s profile.”

Jesse frowned and hummed. “Any chance that this is an old member that wasn’t scrubbed with the rest of the roster?”

“You must have elevated permissions to access this agent’s profile.” Jesse rolled his eyes. Damn limited AI. While the unknown profile was concerning, there was no real way to investigate it without bringing in a specialist. The Blackwatch network had been engineered by the world’s best. There was simply no way to compromise the system without an extended physical presence at the command console, thanks to its nature as an insulated network.

“Athena, who has accessed the command console since October 23, 2044?”

“This console was regularly accessed until November 11, 2045.” The day the Petras Act went into effect, so that made sense. “This console was sealed from then until January 27, 2051. The following persons have accessed the system in chronological order: Winston, redacted, Lena Oxton, Angela—“

“Wait, go back. What d’you mean ‘redacted’?”

“On February 15, 2051 a profile was created and then deleted.”

Jesse removed his hat and ran his hand through his shoulder-length hair. Might be time for a trim, he thought distractedly. “Ain’t that the day of the Recall?”

“Confirmed.”

“Who created the profile?”

“Redacted.”

“Fine,” Jesse groaned in exasperation, “who accessed the console right before and after the redacted profile?”

“Agent Winston accessed the system before and after the redacted profile.” There, now it made sense. Winston was likely testing his permissions, since he was expecting new agents for the Recall.

“And there weren’t any others who accessed the console?”

“Negative.” Well, it didn’t answer who or what the Sombra profile was, but at least Jesse could be sure that it was legitimate.

“Thanks, sweetheart. One last thing, there’s a man livin’ in 1-024. Last name: Shimada, First name: Hanzo. He has no security clearance and is a suspected hostile. Restrict his access around the base accordin’ly. Also, send me an alert any time he leaves his room.”

“Yes, Special Agent McCree. I am whitelisting the following locations: quarters 1-024, gymnasium, kitchen, dining hall, common areas. Is this acceptable?”

“Hm. Add the shootin’ range, but only the main entrance and urban sim. Lemme know if he enters. He shouldn’t have access to the arms room. Limit common area access to the ones in Zone 1. Don’t want him wanderin’ off too far,” Jesse muttered to himself.

“Confirmed. Hanzo Shimada is now restricted.”

“Thanks a ton, darlin’.” Jesse stood and withdrew his ID card. The Antarctica team would leave late tomorrow afternoon, so there was no need to monitor Shimada yet. It was time for some well-earned rest.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

⟪Are you sure you’ll be fine, _anija_?⟫ Hanzo watched the cyborg shift from one foot to another. He couldn’t tell if his brother was worried or impatient. _Probably both_, he admitted privately.

⟪Aren’t you the one flying to the South Pole for a mission?⟫

Genji snickered. ⟪True, but you must contend with an angry McCree.⟫

His lips quirked into a smile. ⟪I will be sure to stay out of his way.⟫

Genji nodded seriously before replying, ⟪I would not even leave your room if I were you.⟫

⟪You will be gone for a week!⟫ His brother laughed brightly before giving Hanzo’s shoulder a squeeze, boarding the small jet plane where the other three already waited. Hanzo could see Angela watching him through a small window. He lifted his arm in a timid wave. She smiled gently and returned the gesture before turning away.

He made his way off the tarmac, joining the rest of the agents to see the team off. Hanzo had been absolutely amazed when he first met all the members—the diversity alone was enough to make his head spin. There was a gargantuan German crusader; a dwarven Swedish engineer; his brusque, blunt armorer-daughter; a chronally-challenged British pilot; and a genetically-engineered gorilla scientist _from the moon_. Of course, he was already well-acquainted with his cyborg ninja brother, the pacifist Swiss doctor, and the American cowboy. Speaking of whom, the man—McCree, Hanzo reminded himself—seemed entirely transformed when amongst friends. His smile came easy, his laughs were large, and he seemed to have a kind word for everyone. Except Hanzo.

Anytime Hanzo stood too close to any of the Overwatch agents, McCree’s eyes would pin him in place. The American wouldn’t move away from whatever conversation he was engaged in; His body language wouldn’t change and he would continue to beam in the direction of his teammates—but his eyes would burn with a hatred Hanzo had never known. Eventually, Hanzo settled on the fringe of the group, not particularly eager to anger the man while Genji was away.

Soon enough, the jet’s engines roared, propelling it down the short runway. The plane rushed over the cliff, dropping below the edge momentarily before climbing into the azure sky. Once the aircraft was high in the air, the Overwatch members trickled away until it was only Hanzo watching it disappear over the horizon. He deliberated a moment more before quietly returning to his room. He didn’t waste any time collecting his bow carrier, exiting the room before the door even had a chance to close. As part of his farewell tour this morning, Genji had been kind enough to show Hanzo some of the more productive areas of the base—namely, the gym and the practice range. It had only been a few weeks since Hanzo last had the opportunity to loose a few arrows, but he craved the touch of smooth carbon in his palm.

Hanzo tapped the passcode Genji taught him, waiting until the door had slid completely out of the way before he stepped into the spacious training area. He set his bag down carefully inside the doorway, deciding to explore before he prepared his bow. To his left, a solid metal door guarded the weapons, as announced by the white stenciled letters “Arms Room”. There were ten fifty-meter shooting lanes on his right, clearly meant for zeroing sights and standard target practice. Hanzo would have to stop there first, to ensure that his bowstring wouldn’t need more adjustment from its previous use. He followed the hallway past the shooting lanes until exiting the corridor into a much larger room. 

Hanzo blinked in surprise as he realized the room was carved into the very mountain. The edge of the cliff face traveled directly over his head before the rock arched to the ground on his right, leaving the entire left side open to the elements. The room itself was filled with a mock urban environment. Everything from two-story buildings to alleyways to what appeared to be market stalls littered the space. Hanzo was impressed.

He turned about, wondering how the old Overwatch would use this space for training exercises. Did they split into teams and simulate shooting with laser systems? Were there pop-up targets? Hanzo spied a panel set into the wall just before the hallway leading back to the arms room. Situated as it was, it was only visible now that he was outside of the hallway. Curious, he padded up to the wall to examine it. He tapped the glass a few times and the screen flickered to life: _Reset last exercise?_ Hanzo shrugged mentally, selecting _Yes _and watched the urban setting come to life.

Almost immediately, bots sprung out of concealed closets seemingly _everywhere_. The majority were painted red, although a few were blue instead, and they zoomed about the space in a methodical pattern. Hanzo watched attentively, committing their paths to memory, when a red bot shot a blue bot. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. Moving targets was a _very _pleasant surprise, even more so that they act both as allies and enemies. Hanzo could easily pass the time in here while Genji completed his mission. Eager to try out the simulation, he walked back to the control panel and switched off the exercise before reentering the hallway to retrieve his bow. He stopped suddenly at the entrance, eyes riveted on an unexpected figure.

At the other end of the hallway, a scant hundred meters away, McCree leaned casually against the door of the arms room.

Hanzo stood stiffly, unsure of how to react. Had McCree come here for practice as well? His eyes darted about the American’s person, searching for any hint of the powerful revolver—but he couldn’t find it. Sensing no immediate danger, Hanzo allowed himself to examine the intimidating figure. The most prominent feature about the man was his height, easily over 185 cm. It was difficult to judge the man’s build, though. His shoulders were wide, but his long-sleeve flannel shirt hung loosely on his frame. The shirt was untucked, its hem extending to just below where Hanzo thought his hips were. It gave the impression of hand-me-downs or before-and-after pictures of weight loss stories. Faded straight-cut jeans gave way to a pair of scuffed leather cowboy boots. Hanzo’s searching gaze paused when he noticed McCree’s beard and chin-length hair were wet. Not damp, not drying, but soaking wet. Water had dripped on to the shoulders of his shirt, leaving dark stains on the cloth. The American had clearly rushed here to the practice range from the shower.

“How did you know I was here?”

“It’s my job to know where you are while Genji’s gone.” Hanzo frowned at the deflection. “How long d’you want to practice here?”

“It is none of your business.” McCree didn’t look away or even respond. He didn’t move, for that matter. Hanzo tried waiting him out, letting the minutes trickle by before he tired of the game. No cowboy with a power complex was going to interrupt his training. He stalked down the hallway, head held defiantly high and shoulders thrust back. He eyed McCree as he approached, but he remained inhumanly still. Hanzo snatched up his bag before retreating to lane four.

Hanzo tried to take comfort in the familiar routine of preparing his bow. He snapped the limbs onto the main body before securing them with hand-twisted bolts. He examined his string carefully, searching for any frays or signs of breakage before deeming it acceptable and sliding the bottom loop into its corresponding notch. He used his bow stringer to bend the bow back, allowing him to notch the top loop as well. Still, McCree stood in the corner of his vision, hovering at the edge of his attention.

“Do you not have somewhere better to be?”

“You mean anythin’ that would make leavin’ the guy who sliced-and-diced my best friend _alone _with a weapon seem like a good idea?” McCree hummed in mock thoughtfulness. “Nah, nothin’s comin’ to me. Got any suggestions?”

Hanzo could feel annoyance carving a scowl into his face. “Surely you do not mean to act as my escort at all hours of the day.”

“Is that your way of askin’ me to spend the night?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “I know your game now. You will not fluster me with your callousness.”

McCree shrugged unapologetically. “Was worth a shot.” Hanzo continued to glare at him, bow gripped tightly in his right hand. “Look, shit or get off the pot. If you ain’t gonna shoot, I’m gonna kick you out.”

“You do not have the authority to do so!”

“You sure about that?” McCree smirked at him. _Smirked_. God, Hanzo hated the man. He glared at the cowboy, silently seething. McCree’s hair was still wet. _How did he know I was here? Does he really have the power to keep me from practicing?_ Hanzo growled in frustration. He was too tired for this. With short, angry movements he disassembled his bow and packed it back inside its case. Barely resisting the urge to shove the American aside, he threw the door open, exiting the practice range and storming to his quarters. He needed to meditate.


	5. Retrieval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Non-explicit suicide discussion, severe malnutrition, off-screen deaths (no character deaths)

“Buckle up, luvs,” Lena chirped from the cockpit, “We’re going in for landing!” 

Genji complied quickly, snapping the restraints into place, eager for the descent to begin.

“I can’t wait to get off this blasted plane,” a green-faced Torbjörn said, clutching the arms of his chair tightly.

Angela frowned in concern. “I would have packed Dramamine if I knew you were prone to air sickness.”

He shook his head slightly. “Don’t like drugs.” The plane jerked suddenly as it hit a small patch of turbulence. Torbjörn groaned miserably.

“Less than you like air sickness?” Genji couldn’t help but tease, earning a glower from the stocky engineer.

“Less than you’ll like being locked outside in the snow!”

“Be kind!” Angela reprimanded them both before fixing Genji with a stern look. “I have half a mind to agree with Torbjörn; you’ve been provoking him the whole trip.”

“Aww, Angie—“

“Do _not _call me that.” To Genji’s delight, Angela’s eyes sparked with a fierce fire. He grinned, secure in the knowledge that she couldn’t see through his mask. He really wouldn’t goad her if she didn’t make it so _rewarding_.

Lena’s voice interrupted his thoughts: “Going vertical!” 

Genji braced against the forward momentum as the jet’s thrusters slowed the plane’s acceleration. Simultaneously, both wings rotated ninety degrees in their sockets to direct the primary engines’ thrust directly underneath the plane. He peeked out the window, trying to make out the ground. The compound must be on the left side of the plane, because all he could see was an endless expanse of snow under a clear night sky.

“I can’t imagine living here during the winter,” Angela said. “No sun at all for five months!”

“I do not think it would be so difficult,” Genji said slyly. “Your smile alone lights up the day.” Angela rolled her eyes, but he could see her hiding a grin. _Still got it_!

A sudden lurch signaled the end of their journey. Torbjörn was the first to unbuckle, but Genji followed soon after, eager to stretch his legs after two days of travel. He bounced on his heels as he waited for the rest of the team to don protective layers of clothes--one of the many benefits of a cybernetic body included self-regulating heating and cooling mechanisms. 

Angela shouldered her medical bag before handing Genji an empty backpack. He thought Winston was a little optimistic in providing them such a large one; there was little chance of finding significant data.

Lena stood by the exit door, clad in snow pants, boots, and her bomber jacket. “Everyone ready? I’ll be manning the plane while you three get to do all the exciting stuff. If I see any bad weather coming our way, I’ll let you know! Don’t forget to comm me if you need anything.” She waited until everyone gave her a thumbs up. “Alright, here we go!” Lena undid the door’s latch, throwing it open and unrolling the rope ladder. It was less than two meters to the ground, but neither Torbjörn nor Angela would be happy with jumping the distance. Genji had no such reservations.

“I swear, if you get hurt, you will be healing _yourself_, Genji!” He was already halfway to the compound by the time Angela’s shouts hit his ears, laughing under his breath. He tried the first door he could find, but true to Torbjörn’s predictions it was sealed shut. Rather than try the remaining doors, he scaled the buildings to the roof. Once he reached the top, he scanned the buildings for any signs of life. It wasn’t very encouraging.

Snow drifts piled high on the windward sides of the buildings. What appeared to be an antenna mast had snapped in half, the top portion swinging forlornly from a thin cable. At what he presumed to be the front of the compound, a large silver flag pole stood resolutely against the star-lit sky. At its zenith, a tattered strip of cloth fluttered in the breeze. The whole scene breathed a sense of isolation and abandonment. He didn’t feel very eager to discover the scientists.

A high-pitched whine bounced off the walls of the compound. Turning to face its source, he could see sparks outlining Torbjörn’s and Angela’s silhouettes, meaning they were already hard at work creating an entrance. Knowing he couldn’t yet help, Genji decided to further explore the rooftops. He leapt across the compound, mentally outlining the buildings even though Torbjörn already possessed the building schematics. It didn’t take him long to reach the end of the compound. He paused, nonplussed by his lack of discoveries. He stared over the rooftops disconcertedly. These scientists were already dead. They had been dead for years. Now they were here to rob their final resting place, going off of nothing but a speck on an IR image—oh!

Genji cursed his lack of attention to detail as he fumbled at the side of his visor. When was the last time he used his thermal scanner, anyway? Finally finding the right setting, Genji looked about with new eyes. Nearly everything was black. Their plane still glowed a dull white, its insulation minimizing the escape of heat. The welding gun’s blinding light masked Angela’s and Torbjörn’s own heat signatures. There was nothing else except—Genji raced to the small vent. Barely visible, a meager steam rose from the cylindrical pipe. He turned off the thermal reader before sprinting to his companions.

“There is heat!”

“Yes,” Torbjörn said, already packing his traveling welding gun into his rucksack. “That tends to happen when your gun is designed to melt steel.”

“No, there is heat from the building! I saw it on the roof. It is toward the end of the compound.”

Angela’s elegant brows raised in surprise even as Torbjörn’s bushy eyebrows drew together in skepticism. “At the end?” The engineer asked, hefting his pack onto his shoulders. “Those are the research labs. The common rooms and main living areas are just through here.” He swept his hand at the gaping doorway. “It was probably just your imagination. Can you even feel in that contraption you call a body?” 

Genji felt irritation sweep through his frame.

Thankfully, Angela rose to his defense before he could say something he’d later regret. “He has thermal imaging built into his visor.”

“Is that so? Hm. Well, it is probably just a backup generator running on fumes. We’ll find out soon enough. Everyone turn on your lights, it will be dark inside—in more ways than one.”

Genji watched Angela turn on her headlamp and readjust her bag anxiously. He sidled up to her to speak quietly into her ear. “I can go ahead, if you would like. I will let you know if they are…” Genji grasped for the right word, not wanting to distress Angela further. She had never quite recovered from the carnage of the Zurich headquarters.

“I…” Angela scrunched up her face in an expression Genji would find adorable if it weren’t for the somber circumstances. “I would appreciate that. I knew several of the people stationed here.” 

Genji nodded sympathetically before stepping into the entry corridor. Torbjörn led the way, his electric lamp raised high. They found the common room first. It was clean and undisturbed. Few personal belongings decorated the room: a couple posters, a chore roster, a stack of board games, a pile of blankets, and a well-used coffee pot. A thick layer of frost coated every surface. No bodies, though. He waved Angela through the doorway.

They spent only a few minutes in the room, as there weren’t any research documents or digital equipment to investigate. The living quarters branched off to the left while a door on the right led further into the compound.

“Why don’t we save the bedrooms for last?” Torbjorn suggested. Genji and Angela silently agreed and the trio continued on its way.

They entered a small kitchen next. Like the common room, it was spotless. There weren’t even any dishes in the sink. Genji hummed. “Does this not seem strange? I imagined that a group of people hanging on to survival would not be so… clean.” He peeked in a cabinet, shocked to discover coffee grounds and sugar. “They did not even use all of their stores.”

Torbjörn grunted. “Then maybe they did not wait for the end to come to them.”

Genji paused. “You mean suicide?” Angela winced.

“Aye. Come on, I don’t like this place. I want to get this over with.” 

They pressed through the kitchen to the next room, which turned out to be an office space. Three cubicles lined each side of the aisle. Torbjörn swept the room with a critical eye. “Grab the hard drives from the computers and anything that looks like it might hold data.”

Genji started with the first cubicle on the right. Ejecting the hard drive was simple enough, but finding data sticks was much more difficult. It wasn’t because the desk was cluttered or messy, however. It was the simple act of moving aside the personal effects of the scientist who worked here that stirred up intense emotions of guilt and remorse. Logically, he knew he wasn’t responsible for the deaths of the scientists, but it didn’t help. Overwatch failed so many people when it fell and now he was left to salvage the ruins.... 

He only wished it didn’t feel like he was raiding a tomb.

The next cubicle belonged to a Dr. Torres, judging by the nameplate. He moved as quickly as he could, trying to shake the sense of unease that had settled deep in his bones. He picked up a snow globe to study it, although “snow” globe might be a misnomer in this case. It was a Mexican beach, perhaps Cozumel, with a mass of sparkling glitter instead of snow. Was Dr. Torres from there? Or was it a way to remember a trip with family?

A scream split the still air-- the globe slipped from his grip, shattering on the tile underneath. Genji whirled about, shuriken in hand, ready to take on the nonexistent threat. Angela had backed herself into the opposite wall, tearful eyes locked on the corpse seated at another desk. Genji rushed to her side while Torbjörn stepped up to examine the carcass.

Genji maneuvered his body to block Angela’s line of sight to the dead man. “Are you alright?” 

Her eyes snapped to his visor—his heart skipped a beat at the terror in her eyes—before he abruptly found his arms full of the doctor. She clung to him, head buried in his chest. It took him a moment to move past his initial surprise and tighten his arms around her, but once he did he relished in the contact, rubbing soothing circles on her back. She shook in his arms as he murmured reassurances into the hood of her coat. She made no sound. No hint of a sigh or sob. Her violent trembling slowly subsided, but Genji continued to hold her. They remained that way for a few moments until Torbjörn cleared his throat.

Angela extracted herself from his arms. “It’s… I’m okay now,” she said quietly. She even smiled, but he could see that it was fragile and false. Reluctantly, he allowed her to slip past him and join Torbjörn. She would not appreciate it if he questioned her resolve and with good reason. A rush of concern and admiration washed over him, warming him in this frozen graveyard, as Genji watched her keep her gaze stubbornly fixed on the dead man, determined to conquer her fear.

“This is MacReady’s desk.” Torbjörn explained, pointing at the nameplate next to the computer monitor. “Assuming he wanted to die in his own space, this is likely MacReady himself.”

MacReady sat stiffly in his desk chair, head lolled back on the headrest. His skin had tightened over his features in death, drawing his lips back in a grotesque grin and giving his glassy eyes a look of ghastly surprise. Bright red hair peeked out of his furred hood. He was wearing thick winter clothing, but only had one glove on. His left hand was bare, exposed up to a watch on his wrist.

“Why is he wearing all of his snow clothes?” Angela’s voice was only mostly steady.

Torbjörn shrugged. “They probably turned off the heat to conserve energy. I am more curious that he’s wearing only one glove.”

Genji turned away from the body to examine the cubicle itself. It appeared barren of anything personal, except for an empty photo frame. Genji stepped forward to investigate further when his foot connected with a small object. He looked down to discover a small orange pill bottle. He bent and lifted it to the light. “What is triazolam?”

Angela took the empty bottle from him. “Sleeping pills. These are prescribed to Miguel Torres, though.”

“Hm. Maybe that’s why he took off the glove,” Torbjorn speculated. “To open the bottle. Probably took the lot.”

“So this is Torres?”

Angela shook her head. “No. I knew Torres. He had black hair.” 

Encouraged by his find, Genji returned to examining the floor. It did not take him long to discover the missing photograph. He passed it to Angela wordlessly. She sighed at the image. 

“This must have been his family. They look so happy…” She flipped the photo over, presumably looking for a date or name to confirm her suspicions. A surprised gasp escaped her lips. “There’s a note!”

They all huddled around the photo to read the stilted handwriting:

_December 29, 2045,_

_ It didn’t work. I woke up before the others. If they’ll ever wake up. I know there’s no chance. If a rescue hasn’t come by now, it never will. I can’t go back to the cold. I never want to be that cold again. I’m sorry, Marissa. Please take care of our boys._

_-R. J. MacReady_

Torbjörn was the first to break the silence. “I guess they all agreed to share the pills? Then MacReady woke up and tried again?”

“I suppose.” Angela brought the photo closer to her face. “The date doesn’t make any sense, though. Didn’t Winston say that the storm happened at the same time as the Fall? This is more than a year later.”

“Maybe he was confused. Dehydrated, starving, just woke up from an attempted suicide—it’s a wonder he could even write.”

“But it says December.” She insisted. “Did they even have enough supplies to last them that long? It would have been two months after their departure date.”

“Careful rationing, perhaps?” Genji ventured. They all stood around MacReady, silently contemplating what his last days must have been like.

“We need to keep going.” Torbjörn ejected MacReady’s hard drive, dropping it in the bag with the others, and left the office. The next room was the largest one by far. Multiple work benches dotted the area, large scientific instruments with no immediately discernible purpose crowded what space remained. “Same as before, grab whatever looks relevant.”

Angela hesitated in the doorway. Genji touched her gloved hand briefly. “I will clear the room first.” She nodded. It didn’t take him long to walk up and down each aisle. Even though this room was the largest in the compound, it still wasn’t particularly spacious. “It is okay, Angela,” he called from across the room.

“Thank you, Genji.”

He decided to start clearing from the side he was already on, but paused when he spotted the door to the next room. Perhaps it would be better if he cleared the rest of the building first? Then Angela could search without fear. He glanced back at her, her headlamp lighting up her face in a manner that could only be described as seraphic. He turned to the door resolutely. It took a couple tries to open it, disused as it was, but he finally managed to pry it open in the end.

He was surprised at how small the space was. It was circular, maybe six meters in diameter, ringed with what appeared to be tube-shaped closets on one side and a large desk and several desktops on the other. There was no other door, so it must be an offshoot lab rather than a continuation into the compound. Might as well clear it while he was there. 

He moved to the computers to eject the hard drives, but stopped, fingers lightly resting on the computer’s chassis. The highly reflective metal was tinged very slightly red. _Where is that coming from?_ While they all brought red lights as backups to their primaries, Genji didn’t think anyone had made the switch. He looked out the doorway to confirm this before turning his head back to the computer in confusion. The red glimmer was still there.

He turned to the cylindrical structures. Though they were concealed from the doorway, he was now at an angle that allowed him to see the panels faintly lighting the small room. He rushed to the nearest one. _There shouldn’t be any power in the compound._ Genji quickly compared his rooftop map to their progress in the building. He should be directly under the vent with heat. He squinted at the panel. Red font dispassionately announced “Critical Failure”. Critical failure of what? Was this an experiment the scientists had left running even in the face of their demise? What could be so important? Genji took a moment to determine how to open the cylinder, but there were no apparent latches. The panel was unresponsive.

Genji turned to the next cylinder and repeated the process. On the fourth cylinder, he was surprised to discover that it was already open. It was large enough that he could stand inside it, but there didn’t appear to be anything within. He turned to the panel in confusion. This one didn’t read “Critical Failure”, however. These words were in a sickly yellow: “Early Release”.

“Genji? Where are you?” Genji padded to the open doorway to see Angela twisting in place, trying to find him in the main lab.

“Over here! I have found something.”

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Torbjörn barreled past him into the small antechamber, Angela close on his heels.

“Over here, look.” Genji dragged the pair to the open tube. “There are six of these, most of them say ‘Critical Failure’ but this one says ‘Early Release’. I was not able to open any of the other tubes and I cannot tell what might have been in this one.” 

Torbjörn hummed in contemplation, studying the craftsmanship of the cylinder.

“Genji, did you see this one? It doesn’t say critical failure _or_ early release.” He joined Angela at the last tube in the row, one of the two he didn’t have a chance to examine yet. Sure enough, green text read “Status: Sleeping”. 

“What does it mean by sleeping?” He wondered aloud. “Is it referring to the computers?” Genji suddenly felt a wave of relief that he hadn’t ejected the drives in this room as it would likely have shut off all the systems.

He studied the panel with Angela, experimentally tapping on the screen. Unlike the previous panels, this one responded immediately. A menu replaced the status monitor, presenting several choices: “Status”, “Read Outs”, “Subject Data”, and “More”. He extended a hand to press “More” only to have Angela swat his hand away. She selected Read Outs instead. Several graphs populated on the screen, showing sinusoidal waves inching across the screen.

“Wait, these are electrocardiographs.” Genji looked at her questioningly. She didn’t even glance at him as she clarified, already busy navigating back to the original menu. “Heart beats, blood pressure, oxygenation, these graphs are monitoring someone’s health.” She tapped on “Subject Data”.

_Name: Mei-Ling Zhou_

_Birth Date: June 7, 2013_

_Sex: Female_

_Nationality: Chinese citizen—_

The profile disappeared as Angela frantically backed out. “She’s still alive! She’s in the cylinder—It’s a cryo-chamber! They froze themselves.” She hit the “More” button, no doubt searching for the option that allowed her to release Zhou from her artificial hibernation. On the next page, one of the options was “Wake Subject”. Angela pressed it firmly. A timer appeared, with a caption that read “Defrosting”.

“That is what MacReady meant,” Genji realized. “He woke up early. They did not commit suicide, they are all here.” The trio looked about the cryo-lab, only now understanding the significance of “Critical Failure”.

“…They would have lived if the UN had sent the rescue party.” No one responded to Torbjörn’s observation. There was nothing to say. Three pairs of eyes watched the timer slowly work its way down to zero. Five minutes remaining. “Genji, why don’t you collect Zhou’s things from her cubicle and bunk? It’s going to be a rough awakening for her, jumping seven years ahead. I’m sure she would appreciate some things that she knows.” 

Genji nodded then looked to Angela in question.

“I’m going to stay here. Cryostasis is extremely experimental, there’s no telling what condition she’ll come out in.”

“I will return shortly.” With that, Genji sprinted out of the room. He collected everything in Zhou’s workspace without pausing to consider its worth. He did not want to leave Angela longer than necessary. If the cryo-chamber opened only for Zhou to die of shock or some other unforeseen consequence, Angela would shoulder the blame herself.

After raiding the office, Genji made his way to the living quarters. This door was not nearly as difficult to open as the cryo-lab. He paused once he entered—there were two rows of beds, three on each side. None of them had sheets or blankets on them, only duffle bags. They must have prepared their belongings before putting themselves to sleep in anticipation of their rescue. The bag nearest to him was unzipped, some clothes strewn about. MacReady’s name was stenciled in large black letters on its side. Genji examined each bag for a name, finding Zhou’s at the end of the second row. He deposited the large bag at the entryway, not wanting to drag it to the cryo-lab and then all the way back to the front. As an afterthought, he unzipped it and removed a pair of snow boots and a large, fluffy coat.

He briefly stepped outside to ensure a good connection before clicking his comm button. “Lena, we have found a survivor. Condition to be determined. You should prepare a space where Dr. Ziegler can work.”

“What? A survivor—“ Lena cut herself off on the channel. “Roger that, let me know when you’re close so I can have the ladder down.”

“Acknowledged, out.” He raced back inside and through the compound. He entered the cryo-lab as Torbjörn and Angela pulled an unconscious figure from the cylinder. The woman was emaciated, wearing only leggings and a long-sleeve fleece shirt that both hung limply on her reduced frame. Angela pressed her fingers to the woman’s throat.

“Ah, she’s freezing! Her pulse is weak, we need to get her to the plane right away. Genji, let me have those clothes.” Angela deftly, but gently, dressed the survivor in the garments. These were also too large for her, but it was all they had on hand. “Can you carry her?”

“Yes. Would you carry my bag, Torbjörn?”

“Aye. I’ll clear out this room before I follow.” His eyes darted to the unopened chambers. “They won’t be needing the drives anymore.”

Genji hefted Zhou into his arms, her lightness surprising him despite her evident malnutrition. He jogged through the compound again, careful not to jostle his charge. He shifted her into one arm so he could reach his comm button.

“Coming in hot, Lena.” His feet crunched through the snow as he sprinted to the plane

“Got ya, ladder down.” Lena’s silhouette appeared in the doorway and the rope ladder spilled down the side of the plane. Without pausing to adjust, Genji leapt onto the ladder and climbed the rest of the way one-handed. Inside, Lena had set up a gurney in the center aisle. Genji didn’t know where she had stored that away in the tiny jet and at the moment, he didn’t care. He laid Zhou out, snatching a blanket from one of the seats and folding it underneath her head as a pillow.

Angela burst into the plane, swinging off her bag and tossing it onto her chair. She unzipped it, pulled out a pack of needles, a bag of saline, and a roll of tape. She tossed the tape to Genji. “I’m going to set up her drip. I want you to tape it to the overhead. Lena, close the door and raise the temperature.” She didn’t wait for acknowledgment, already pulling up one of Zhou’s sleeves. 

It took Angela less than thirty seconds to disinfect the skin, identify the vein, slip the needle underneath the skin, and raise the saline bag to Genji. By the time Genji had finished securing the bag, Angela had affixed an oxygen mask to Zhou’s face and wrapped her wrist with a handheld monitor. No longer useful to the doctor, Genji returned to the compound to rejoin Torbjörn and to collect Zhou’s bag. They returned just in time for Angela to declare her patient stable.

“What now, doc?” Lena hovered near the front of the plane, trying to alleviate the cramped feeling in the main body.

“We need to get her to a real medical facility.” The doctor strapped Zhou to her gurney and locked the gurney’s wheels into place, preparing for takeoff. “She is severely malnourished. I cannot care for her long enough for us to make the return journey without putting her at serious risk.”

Lena frowned. “I don’t know where we can bring her. The most direct route back to Gibraltar is over Africa, and I don’t have many contacts on the continent.”

“Numbani. I worked at a hospital there for a few years after the Fall.”

“What will our cover be?” Torbjorn asked, strapping himself in. “We can’t exactly bring a person who’s been dead to the world for six years into a hospital without them asking questions.”

“An emergency medical landing will be enough to get into the airport.” Angela’s tone was brisk, every inch the professional. “I’ll handle everything on the hospital side.”

“What? That’s not good enough, Numbani’s security is notorious for—“

“We can discuss this on the way, but we need to take off now.” Angela looked at Lena meaningfully. Lena gave a crisp salute and dove back into the cockpit. Within moments, the plane was in the air.

“Look, Dr. Ziegler, I know how important patients are to you. I’m not saying we shouldn’t go to Numbani, but we must not compromise ourselves in the process of saving her.” 

Genji watched the argument with apprehension. He sympathized with Torbjörn’s concerns, but he would never dream of standing between Angela and a patient.

“And we won’t. Trust me, I can get us on the landing strip at Numbani airport and from there I can get Zhou to their hospital.”

Torbjörn stared at her silently. _Evaluating her_, Genji thought. “And what if I don’t trust you?”

Angela’s eyes turned icy. “Then take it up with Winston when we return.” She turned away from the Swedish engineer, effectively ending the discussion. Genji settled deeper into his chair, preparing for another long journey.


	6. Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mild violence, mild sexual reference

Hanzo stood, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of his built-up tension. Normally he wouldn’t be so stiff after only an hour of meditation, but then it didn’t normally take him an _entire _hour to calm his anger. Only a day since Genji’s departure for Antarctica and Hanzo is already contemplating murdering McCree. The man tailed him _everywhere_. Part of it was the size of the base accessible to Hanzo—in such a small area it was difficult to avoid any particular person—but Hanzo quickly ruled out coincidence when McCree managed to show up at the shooting range mere minutes after Hanzo arrived, _three times_.

He hadn’t managed to figure out how McCree could constantly monitor him unless he followed him all hours of the day, but he did know how to put a stop to it. He checked his tablet for the time: half past eleven. McCree would probably be on his way to lunch by now if he wasn’t already eating. Hanzo exited his room, grabbing his boxed lunch on the way, and made the short journey to the shooting range. He opened the door, seated himself on the floor, and waited. He didn’t even have a chance to begin on his vegetables when the door was violently wrenched open. Hanzo looked up at McCree with vague disinterest.

“Can I help you?”

McCree stared down at him, a look of distrust on his features. “…What’re you doin’?”

“I am eating my lunch.” He gestured at the modest spread before him with his chopsticks.

“In the shootin’ range?”

“Yes.”

McCree’s face screwed up in confusion. “Why?”

Hanzo shrugged his shoulders, not quite suppressing a smirk. “No reason. Have you already had lunch?”

McCree’s stomach answered for him, a drawn-out growl filling the silence. Without another word, McCree turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. Hanzo chuckled to himself, popping a grape in his mouth.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse was going insane. The few times Genji had described his older brother, he often used the words “serious”, “quick to anger”, and once “a black hole that sucked the life and humor out of everything unfortunate enough to enter his orbit”. What Genji _didn’t _say was that his brother was an even bigger pain in the ass than he was! Shimada must have figured out that Athena alerted him every time he entered the range, because he used every feasible excuse to spend time in there, always at the most inconvenient moments.

When Jesse took a shower, Shimada was in the range to shave. When Jesse hit the halfway point in his workouts, Shimada meditated in the urban simulation. When Jesse took the time to take care of his personal needs, Shimada was having a god damn tea party with Reinhardt! 

The last one had been embarrassing. Jesse stormed into the range, still red in the face, traces of lube on his flesh hand to discover the elder Shimada and Reinhardt discussing the meaning of honor over porcelain teacups. The two men hadn’t noticed Jesse’s flustered state, but just being aware of his own predicament was enough to convince Jesse to just skip the confrontation and return to his room. He wanted to ignore Shimada, but he couldn’t risk leaving him in there unattended. The arms room was secure, but Jesse knew that given a long enough period of time any code could be cracked. Two more days until Genji returns and he could dump this shit on him.

He stalked through the base, frustration hunching his shoulders. He was irritated. He was tired. He was _hungry_. The last bit of chili he made earlier this week was all he had stocked the kitchen, but he wanted it to last through Genji’s return. Overwatch didn’t exactly have the funds to feed him, let alone pay him, and he didn’t want to eat food he hadn’t earned in the first place. Maybe he’d eat Shimada’s food, since the dick thought it was funny to mock his hunger. Jesse turned a sharp corner on the balcony only to stumble headfirst into a solid, furry mass.

“Oh! Sorry, McCree, I didn’t see you there.” Winston adjusted his glasses, more out of habit than need.

Jesse looked up at the gorilla and smiled warmly. “Nah, the fault’s mine, I wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’.” He began to walk past the scientist, but paused mid-step and turned. Winston’s back was to him, already trundling away on all fours, but there was an unmistakable air of worry surrounding him. “Actually, I been meanin’ to talk to you, Winston.”

Winston turned around hesitantly. “Er, you have?”

“Yessir. How’ve you been?”

“Uh, good, I guess.”

“That’s good. How’s runnin’ Overwatch?”

“It’s, um, troublesome.”

Jesse schooled his face into a look of surprise. It’s not that he didn’t care about Winston’s problems, he absolutely did. However, to say he was taken aback that the scientist was having leadership issues would be lying. He didn’t get good at poker by being honest, though. “Really? Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I don’t…” Winston frowned deeply. “Well, maybe. We shouldn’t talk about it outside. Will you follow me to the lab?”

“Course.” Jesse fell into step next to the scientist for the short trip to Winston’s lab. It was a larger room, maybe a couple hundred square feet in total. The mezzanine was half the size of the lower level but had windows for walls, affording a stunning view of the evening Strait outside. The lower level had several messy workbenches and chalkboards covered in complicated equations. Empty jars of peanut butter were poorly hidden throughout the lab, some behind monitors, others shoved in potted plants.

A tire swing hung from the ceiling, ending at just the right height in front of an extensive computer workspace. Winston eased himself into it and Jesse tried to ignore the worrisome creaking from the cables. The silverback hit the power switch and turned to Jesse as he waited for the computer to boot. “I haven’t been idle during Overwatch’s inactivity. I’ve been keeping very careful tabs on the world. It’s why I initiated the Recall in the first place.” He turned back to the triple monitor and opened three different files, each one expanding to fill a screen. On the far left, the file directory named “76” listed several videos and images along with a seemingly endless number of text files. The middle and the right were both similar, but the directories were titled “Talon” and “SOC”, respectively.

Jesse froze. He looked at Winston sharply. “What do you know about Talon?”

“Uh, just everything I’ve collected in this file. Why? What do you know?”

Jesse weighed his options quickly. He had already overplayed his hand in showing he had knowledge of the shadow organization, but he couldn’t tell Winston everything he knew without exposing Blackwatch as well. He wasn’t ashamed of his time with Blackwatch, but he wasn’t ignorant of the distrust and outright hostility it would inspire in the current Overwatch.

“I was on the run from every government and legal organization known to man for near on a decade, Winston. You don’t live that way without runnin’ into folk of the same cloth. Even amongst us criminal types, Talon is very bad news.”

Winston paused. Jesse tried to keep his breathing even as the silence grew longer, tension building, and building. Finally, the gorilla nodded. “They are indeed ‘very bad news’, as you put it.” He began pulling up news articles. Several about the assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta, some about an attack at Volskaya Industries in Russia, most about an attempted robbery at a museum in Numbani. “I know for certain that the incident at the Overwatch museum in Numbani and Mondatta’s assassination at King’s Row were perpetrated by Talon. One of their operatives—a sniper called Widowmaker—killed him. Lena was in the area at the time, as she lives near King’s Row and is a fan of the Shambali philosophy. While she failed to save his life, she did succeed in confirming Talon activity.

“She told me what she learned about Widowmaker and I began researching everything I could." Winston adjusted his glasses. "I have reason to believe that Talon has existed for decades, even during the original Overwatch’s time. What’s more, I believe that they were directly involved in some of the… less successful missions back in the day.”

_If you only knew,_ Jesse thought darkly. Talon had been the bane of Blackwatch’s existence. The organization was an eternal enigma, despite the best efforts of every black ops intelligence analyst or covert operator. A man by the name of Gerard Lacroix had been one such analyst and the lead for the Talon effort. Jesse was one of maybe three people left in the world who knew who really killed Gerard; Widowmaker didn’t earn her name killing spiders. All of this, he knew; none of this, he could say. He let the gorilla continue his exposition uninterrupted.

“Just before the Recall, I was attacked here at Gibraltar. A small team of Talon soldiers broke past Athena’s defenses. I was able to get rid of two of them easily; I don’t think they expected anyone to be living here. In the ensuing, erm, altercation, I took out the rest, but one seemed to have… unnatural powers. I ended up crushing him beneath a two-ton crate.” Jesse didn’t have to fake surprise this time. Winston coughed self-consciously. “Right. Anyway, it seemed that they failed to do whatever they came here for, but I have reason to believe they were after Athena’s servers.”

An uneasy feeling settled into Jesse’s gut. Talon was still active against Overwatch? Talon had _invaded the Watchpoint?_ His mind instantly flashed to Shimada. He could be Talon. He could be mapping the base and cataloging their every movement, waiting for the opportune moment to _strike—wait, no, calm down, Jesse_. If Shimada was a Talon agent, he would have _definitely _known about Genji long before his grand reveal a year ago. He couldn’t rule it out entirely, but… He shook himself, returning to the conversation. “What makes you think that?”

“The weird one tried to copy agent files directly from this computer. It wouldn’t have worked, of course, he would have had to go directly to the server room and use the command console. However, once I discovered Talon’s intentions I began to cross reference the agent database with recent news articles. In the past year twenty agents died of unnatural causes. As you can imagine, I found this suspicious, so I expanded the search to anything in the past five years, and then the past ten.” Winston took a deep breath and locked eyes with Jesse. He couldn’t have looked away from the animalistic eyes if he wanted to. “Since the fall of Overwatch, ten percent of former agents have died in suspicious circumstances.”

Air escaped Jesse’s lungs and didn’t seem to want to return. Ten percent…? Thousands had served in Overwatch. _Hundreds _of people must have died. How hadn’t he noticed? How hadn’t anyone noticed? Winston said that it was over a decade, but that would average out to at least ten agents a year. Surely, that would have raised some eyebrows.

“Many of these deaths were made to seem like accidents or suicides.” Winston supplied, preempting Jesse’s question. “Or at least they were ruled as such. I, uh, took liberties with some police department records and even in clear instances of foul play, the cases were closed almost as soon as they were opened. I think Talon’s been the one systematically killing former agents.”

“But why?” He could easily imagine Talon wiping the earth clean of Blackwatch operatives, but even including all support agents their numbers never exceeded one hundred. This was bigger than Blackwatch.

“I don’t know. I’ve compared the profiles of every single victim and the only thing they all have in common is that they were a part of Overwatch.” Winston opened another file and the faces of agents flickered on the screen, one after another. They sat in solemn silence, watching the rapid succession of victims.

“When you said you were havin’ problems leadin’ Overwatch, I thought you meant you had less money for peanut butter.” Jesse leaned his hip against the desk, eyes still glued to the screen.

“Well, finances are tight, that much is true. I’ve managed to secure a few donations to our cause, so we should be able to better supply our own logistics beginning next month.”

Jesse perked up at this, eager at the thought of bountiful food. “That so? How’d you get people to pay up?”

Winston’s face shadowed ominously. “Talon might be the biggest danger to Overwatch, but they’re not the biggest danger to the world.” He waved a massive hand at the rightmost screen, the one labeled “SOC”. “This is my file on the Second Omnic Crisis.”

Jesse’s heart thudded against his ribcage. “What—the second? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“An omnium in Russia has gone rogue. Most of our investors are anxious citizens in the neighboring country of Kazakhstan.”

“…Winston, this would have been in the news. I might’ve been livin’ low, but I wasn’t under a rock. I woulda heard about this.”

“Russia is keen to keep this quiet. After the first Omnic Crisis, the nation prided itself on its independence from international organizations. For them to be the first showing symptoms of a second crisis would be a massive blow to their pride and political security.”

“Look, I really wish you’d stop sayin’ first and second crisis. There was only one. There will only ever _be _one. Just because a single omnium is havin’ some problems doesn’t mean the whole world is goin’ to collapse.”

Winston leveled a disappointed glance at him. “Do you really believe that?”

Omniums going rogue just did not happen after the Crisis. If a factory deviated from its designated production schedule by a single bolt, the whole operation was shut down for weeks until the administrators were sure that there was no danger of corrupted AI. He sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for hopin’, can ya?” Winston sniffed skeptically. “What’s on the first screen?”

“Oh, this is a file I have on a… well, I’m not really sure what to call him. He’s some sort of vigilante in Mexico and the southwest States. He first showed up about a year ago. At first I thought he was a Talon agent, but he probably would have caused more destruction by now if he was.”

“What’s his name? Maybe I heard of him. That’s pretty close to where I was hidin’.”

“I don’t know his name. Nobody does. The locals call him _Soldado_: 76.”

“Sounds like a low-tier type. Why’re you trackin’ him?”

Winston shifted on his tire seat uncomfortably. “He… he looks a lot like Morrison.”

Jesse stared. “Morrison? _Jack _Morrison? Strike Commander of Overwatch _Morrison_?” Winston nodded sheepishly. “Winston, big guy, there’s no way he survived Zurich. He was in the middle of the building, probably near the center of the blast. There were people who died that were in the outer buildings.”

“I know… but, they never found the body. I ran a visual comparison and they’re the same height and build and the same hair color, although it’s a bit shorter. Couldn’t analyze his face because he always wears a visor—” He was rambling now, and Jesse’s heart sank as he listened. He felt like he was telling a kid Santa wasn’t real.

“Winston.” The scientist stopped, eyes fixed on the screens. “There was no body because he was at the center of the blast. He probably didn’t have time to blink before he died. Remember they found Reyes?” Jesse felt his throat clog with emotion. “His body was torn up somethin’ awful, and he would have had twice as much distance to the explosion. This guy might sorta look like him, but he’s probably just another old soldier.” Winston didn’t turn to look at him, but he nodded. Jesse patted his shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “I wish he didn’t die, too. Hell, there’s a lot of folks I wish were still around. We gotta focus on what we got, though, not on what we lost.” 

_Damn_, that was good. He should start taking his own advice sometime.

Winston forlornly closed the “76” file and sighed. “Well, I guess the real reason I asked for your help was to ask you if you knew any former agents who might consider joining us.”

He blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Didn’t everyone get the Recall?”

“If they still had their comms. I suspect that most people wouldn’t hold on to something like that, or at least not keep it charged. Lena kept hers on out of nostalgia, but I had to personally call Reinhardt and Torbjörn. I think Genji’s Overwatch comms are built into his, um, armor, and he told Dr. Ziegler. The point is, with Talon and another Crisis looming over us, we simply don’t have enough people to be an effective fighting force.”

Jesse’s eyes flitted to the screens displaying articles of Talon carnage and omnic destruction. In the first Crisis, Overwatch had been very small. Thirty of the world’s best soldiers, doctors, engineers, and technicians on a suicide mission with the world’s fate in the balance. Now, they numbered eight. Nine, if you included Athena. He didn’t. 

“’m sorry, but ten years off the grid doesn’t afford me many contacts. I’ll do what I can, but you might be better off askin’ Lena or the others.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Winston removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Night had deepened during their discussion, but the half-moon didn’t provide any light to ease the harshness of the computer screens. Jesse was surprised to see the clock on the monitor read midnight. “Hopefully we can find a few extra hands before the next mission. I can’t keep sending the same people every time—you would all get burnt out—but we need to solve the cause behind the deaths of Overwatch agents.”

Jesse nodded solemnly. “Well, it ain’t a problem we can solve tonight. You should get some shut eye. We’re dependin’ on that sharp mind of yours to do all the thinkin’ for us shootin’ folk.”

Winston snorted. “We all know you’re not as dumb as you say you are, Jesse.”

“Why I never!” Slapping a hand over his chest in mock offense, Jesse’s lips curled in a mischievous smile, as he walked out of the lab. “How could anyone ever accuse me of such a thing! Good night, Winston.” 

He ducked out the doorway, stretching his arms high above his head, wincing slightly as his spine cracked. God, he couldn’t wait to sleep. Since Shimada Asshole decided to wake him up at five that morning, Jesse was eager to recover his sleep deficit. He downed a glass of water to pacify his growling stomach and tossed himself on his bed. His boots barely had time to hit the floor before he passed out.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Agent McCree, Hanzo Shimada has entered the shooting range.”

Jesse growled in irritation, sitting up in his bed to angrily tug on his boots. He glanced out the window to see that the moon was still high in the sky. “What time is it, Athena?”

“0307 local time.” He snarled out a string of curses. Throwing on his shirt from yesterday and snatching Peacekeeper from his nightstand, only one thought guided his actions: Shimada is going to fucking _pay_. The short walk and chill air wasn’t enough to cool his fury. The moment he entered the door, his revolver was raised, aimed directly at Shimada’s head, finger on the trigger. Shimada froze, eyes wide with fear. Clearly, he had expected Jesse to take this torment lying down. _Surprise, mother fucker_.

Shimada slowly raised his hands, palms outward, in a placating gesture. Jesse felt his blood rush through his ears, rage still running strong. He could kill him right now. Rid himself and Genji of this liability that provoked him at every turn. God, did he want to. It would be so easy. All he had to do was _squeeze a little more_—a shot cracked through the night. Shimada dropped to the ground face-first, barely catching himself with his hands. Jesse holstered Peacekeeper and left. He didn’t expect Shimada to follow him.

Then Jesse felt Shimada seize his upper arm. The white-hot rage nearly blinded him—he whirled about and caught Shimada’s wrist in a crushing grip with his prosthetic hand. Shimada grunted in pain, but he did not release him. “Why did you not kill me?” He ground out. Jesse only tightened his grip. “It was point-blank range. You missed on purpose. Why did you not kill me?”

“D’you want me to? Is this a god damn invitation? Because I’m strongly considerin’ acceptin’, _friend_.”

Shimada did not recognize the threat in Jesse’s final word. “I want an answer.”

Jesse released his hold, drew back his arm, and punched Shimada in the face. He heard the bone crunch more than he felt it. “There’s your fuckin’ answer.” Shimada stumbled back, hand covering his right eye. Then he straightened and faced Jesse, hands still clutching his face.

“What is your issue with me?” Shimada hissed through the pain.

Oh, that was _it_. “Are you serious? D’you think you’re funny or some shit? My _issue _with you is that after I came back to the only family that would have me, Genji asked me to help capture you. _You_, who tried to kill him, who mangled him and left him for dead. He wasn’t even askin’ me to help track you down for revenge. You see, he already knew where you were. He confronted you at some point, apparently. He found you after fifteen years when he couldn’t find me after ten. I fought alongside him, I took bullets for him, I helped him through the days where he hated himself so much that he wanted to jump off _those cliffs_”—Jesse jabbed a finger in the direction of the drop off—“because of what you did to him. Then, after half a decade of ‘finding himself’ with the Shambali he decides he wants to mend the bridge between you."

He huffed out a single, humorless laugh. "Of course, I can’t fuckin’ turn him down. That stupid mother fucker would get himself killed if he went off on his own. All enthusiasm, no plannin’. So I tag along. We get to that Italian villa and he runs off on his own anyway, leaving me to find _your _sorry ass. And I do find ya. 

"Did you think it was odd that I didn’t kill you in that kitchen? It would have been easy. Coulda just dressed the scene up like you came after me. I woulda told Genji that you jumped me, it was self-defense. He would have been upset, but he would forgive me eventually.”

Shimada could only stare at him, motionless. 

“I was outta bullets. I didn’t have a single round on me. Fired the last of them in the cellar. Lucky you.

“Then, not even a fuckin’ _week _after you two are reunited, y’all are already bosom buddies! I can’t even ask if he wants to grab lunch with me because he’s either moonin’ after Angela or with you every damn hour of the day. D’you know how many times it’s been just him and me since we dragged you outta the gutter? _Twice_.”

Now Shimada interrupted, tone astounded. “You dislike me because you are jealous that Genji wishes to spend time with his brother?”

“No. _I _am his brother. I _hate _you because he thinks blood is the same as bond.”

“What would you know of family?” Affronted, Shimada removed his hands from his face, his palms slick with scarlet. “What would you know of blood? If an illegal organization like Overwatch is all that will take you, what does it say of you?”

All at once, the anger fled. It abandoned him in the cool night, leaving only a bone-deep weariness. “It says all my family are dead. My sister. My brother. All my friends, all my mentors, my heroes, and my worst enemies. They’re all dead. I’m just tryin’ to keep Genji from facin’ the same fate.” Jesse shook his head. “_That’s_ what tears me up about you. Your greatest mistake survived to forgive you. Mine didn’t.” 

Jesse left. This time, Shimada let him.


	7. Recovery

Genji flopped gracelessly into his seat on the Lark, sighing belligerently. “I am so _bored_.”

“Then leave the plane and leave me alone.” Torbjörn said.

Nonplussed, Genji watched him bury deeper in the nest of pillows and blankets on his fully reclined chair.

Two days. It had been nearly two _whole_ _days_ since they had arrived at Numbani. Proven miracle worker she was, Angela somehow managed to secure them a landing and escorted the rescued scientist to the hospital without incident. The adrenaline and the tension of the Antarctica mission had been draining for all of them-- Lena had collapsed into a makeshift bed in the center aisle almost immediately after putting the plane in the hangar. “Flying for twelve hours straight takes a lot out of a girl,” she had said, pulling a sleeping cap low over her eyes.

But now it was late into the second night and Genji just couldn't sleep the hours away anymore. The Numbani officials, while kind enough to allow them to stay in their hangar, were adamant that only those with valid documentation could leave the plane. No one on the plane had a visa—except for Angela, of course, which was why she could help attend Miss Zhou in the hospital.

He didn't see what the big deal was. The airport took care of everything else, from restocking the plane every day for a modest fee to refueling to emptying the sewer tanks. Why wouldn't they just let him stretch his legs a bit? Breathe something other than stale, recycled air? Opening the Lark's door only did so much to air out the cramped jet. People _stunk_ after three days without proper showers! Well, not him. His enhancements minimized body order. Really, more people should consider becoming cyborgs.

What was he-- oh right! It was only a matter of time before Angela declared her work finished. She had told him it would take only a day or two and to please be patient. So Genji was patient. In this case, being patient meant meditating for half a day before badgering Torbjörn for the next eight hours. He might have a minor concussion from when the engineer hit him with his welding kit. Iris, he needed off this plane.

“What time is it?” Genji asked aloud.

“Time to let me sleep, you confounded machine!" came Torbjörn's muffled shouts. "Call your brother. Bother _him _instead!”

“Oh! That’s a great idea, Torbjörn, thank you!”

“Just be quiet about it.” Torbjörn grumbled, rolling over.

Excited to finally have something to do, Genji dug his tablet out of his bag and then carefully stepped over a lightly snoring Lena to get to the cockpit. Once inside, he took a moment to admire all the buttons and switches. Being a pilot would be _so cool_.

He dropped into the captain's chair and grabbed the yoke, experimentally turning it and beyond excited to find he could. The plane wasn't turned on, surely it wouldn't matter if he flipped a few switches right? He picked a switch at random and flipped it. Nothing happened.

Behind his mask, Genji grinned. He turned around and peeked out the cabin. The other two were still snoring. Facing front again, he quietly said: "Major Tom to ground control, Flight 420 coming in for landing."

He pitched his voice up. "Ground control to Major Tom--" he gasped dramatically "_\--The_ Major Tom? The pilot who heroically saved a plane of orphans?"

"Oh, please, ma'am, I'm working. But-- yes, that was me."

"Wow, I never thought I'd meet the famous Major Tom! Could I have your autograph, sir?"

"Why don't you meet me in the pilot's lounge and I'll see what I can do for you. I'll sign anything, you know."

"_Anything_?"

"Aaaany-- something's wrong!"

"Major?"

"The plane is listing. It's almost like-- the engine's on fire! No, two engines!"

"Major, you have to get to the landing strip!"

"No, it's too far, we'll never make it. I'm going to land us on the river."

"No, Major, don't! It's too dangerous!"

"I must, Angela! It's the only way we can save these people. Wish me luck!"

"I've always loved you, Maj--"

Genji clicked the imaginary radio off, focusing on landing the plane. He was drifting too far left, now too far right, no his approach angle was too high! He had to pull up or all was lost! He flipped some extra switches for some last minute dramatic flair before making the daring landing into the river-- _click_.

He stopped, staring at the hidden panel that slid back only after he pressed a yellow button. It was a cabinet, probably one that was designed for a pilot's personal items, but was currently filled with muffins.

What…? Lena had been hiding muffins from him this _whole time_?

An especially loud snore startled him, and he twisted in the chair to make sure the other two hadn't caught him… ah… conducting a hypothetical exercise. They didn't stir, but he was unwilling to finish the daydream. He'd pushed his luck enough for now.

_Muffins. _Honestly.

Turning on his tablet, Genji hit the green video button next to his brother’s name.

It rung twice before Hanzo picked up. “Genji?”

“Hello, _anija_!” He frowned at the black screen. “You must turn on your video feed.”

“Must we speak in English?”

⟪Of course not,⟫ He said, switching languages seamlessly. ⟪Now turn on your camera.⟫

⟪…No.⟫

⟪What? Why?⟫

⟪I do not need a reason.⟫

⟪Brother.⟫

⟪No.⟫

⟪Is it because you don’t know how? I can walk you through it.⟫

⟪No. Stop pestering me.⟫

⟪Is it because you are naked? Did I catch you at a bad time, brother? I didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time.⟫ Genji never regretted losing his eyebrows as much as he did in that moment, waggling his brows all the same. It didn’t matter that he still wore his mask, his expressions were for his own benefit. The camera abruptly blinked to life, the screen depicting a glowering Hanzo.

Genji did a double-take. ⟪What the hell happened to your face?!⟫

⟪Nothing.⟫ Genji removed his mask so Hanzo could appreciate just how much he was rolling his eyes. ⟪An accident.⟫ Hanzo amended.

⟪Brother, your cheek is so swollen I can hardly see your eye, which is red from all the burst blood vessels, by the way. It is a very nice purple on your skin though. Brings out your eyes. Did you hire a hooker again?⟫

⟪You swore that you would never bring that up!⟫

⟪I lied_._⟫

⟪Genji, you _irritating--_⟫

⟪So, what happened?⟫

Hanzo sighed. ⟪I got in a fight.⟫

⟪Were they stealing your lunch money?⟫ Genji asked sympathetically.

⟪What are you talking about?⟫ He held up a hand. ⟪Never mind. Do not answer that. It was McCree.⟫

Genji sat bolt upright, his stomach somewhere near his feet. ⟪Oh my god, you didn’t kill him, did you? He’s a brother to me!⟫

A strange look passed over Hanzo’s face. He couldn’t quite decipher it, especially when the silence grew a beat too long and Genji thought that maybe he really _did _kill Jesse instead of only maiming him like he initially assumed.

⟪Of course I did not kill him.⟫ Genji sat back slightly in relief. ⟪Why does everyone assume that I am going to kill someone?⟫

⟪…Do you want an essay or is a bulleted list sufficient?⟫ He laughed at Hanzo’s indignant expression.

⟪Shut up.⟫

⟪Okay, but please, start from the beginning.⟫ He'd rather know how bad it was now, in case he had to call Jesse and bully-- ah, _persuade_ him to get medical treatment.

Hanzo frowned. ⟪When you left, McCree started keeping track of me. I do not know how, but he always seemed to know where I was. He was particularly mindful whenever I entered the shooting range. He would stay in there for as long as I did, generally annoying me the whole time.⟫

Genji cocked his head. ⟪Why would he care about you being in there so much?⟫

Hanzo shrugged. ⟪I do not know. I was hoping you might have some idea.⟫

Genji shook his head. He would certainly be asking Jesse, though.

⟪Well, after the first day I became rather,⟫ Hanzo paused in the way he always did when he was trying to downplay a situation. ⟪_Irritated_. I decided that I would return his annoyances in kind. So I started going to the range for silly things as often as I could, disrupting his daily activities. I hoped that he would simply give up following me.⟫

Genji snorted. ⟪Clearly you do not know Jesse.⟫ His brother would have had an easier time taking a bone from a dog.

⟪Maybe so,⟫ Hanzo said reluctantly. ⟪But it seemed reasonable at the time. Last night I set an alarm for three in the morning and went to the range. As I predicted, McCree showed up and he was very angry. He punched me. That is all that happened.⟫

⟪That’s it?⟫ Genji asked skeptically. ⟪He punched you with hardly any provocation and then you parted ways? You didn’t fight back? You’re holding out on me, brother.⟫

⟪We argued_._⟫ Hanzo admitted. ⟪It was nothing. It _is_ nothing, I will ensure that it does not happen again.⟫

⟪How could it be nothing?⟫ Genji asked incredulously. ⟪You have a black eye! If you need me to talk to Jesse I can--⟫

⟪I do not wish to speak of this further.⟫

Genji clicked his jaw shut, clenching his teeth. They stared at one another, neither willing to back down. Minutes trickled past. Genji flopped back in the pilot’s chair. He was too grouchy for this and it was useless trying to out-stubborn his brother anyway.

⟪Fine. We’ll be back tomorrow anyway. I’ll interrogate you then.⟫ And Jesse, too, of course.

Hanzo sniffed imperiously.

⟪The scientist woke up, by the way_._⟫

Hanzo's eyes softened. ⟪Really_? _Poor woman. I cannot imagine what it would be like to wake up and suddenly be seven years in the future. She is the only survivor of her team on top of it. I do not envy her.⟫

⟪Yeah. I haven’t seen her--I’m not allowed off this stupid plane—but Angela says she’s not adjusting well. Won’t talk to anyone. They’re contacting her family now. I think they’re transferring her to a Chinese hospital tomorrow.⟫

⟪What is the cover story?⟫

⟪What, you mean for us?⟫ He shrugged. ⟪I don’t think we really have one. Angela said there was a medical emergency and they let us land, no problem.⟫

⟪No, I mean for the scientist. You showed up with a severely dehydrated and malnutrioned woman last known to be in Antarctica and according to all records has been dead for seven years. Surely they wanted to know how we discovered her. You didn’t tell them about the cryostasis, did you?⟫

⟪How should I know?⟫ Genji said in what was _certainly_ not a pout. ⟪I’ve been on the plane the whole time. Angela’s been handling all the details.⟫

⟪And she hasn’t told you anything? Don’t you find that suspicious? Are you truly willing to put that much trust in her?⟫

⟪Ugh, you’re starting to sound like Torbjörn. She saved my life, I think that’s reason enough to trust her. _She’s_ never betrayed me.⟫

Hanzo visibly flinched away from the camera.

⟪Wait, no—Brother, I didn’t mean it that way!⟫ He sat on the edge of his seat, anxiously watching Hanzo’s face as it clouded with pain before closing off entirely.

⟪…I’m sorry. You are right. You are in a much better position to judge Dr. Ziegler’s character than I am. It is late. We should both get some rest. I wish you safe travels; I will see you tomorrow.⟫

⟪But—⟫ He stopped himself. Pushing his brother right now would only cause him further pain. As Hanzo said, they would see each other tomorrow. ⟪Okay. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. Goodnight, brother.⟫

⟪Goodnight, Genji.⟫ The screen cleared unceremoniously.

Genji sighed softly before sliding his faceplate on. That had not gone the way he had hoped. He wanted to have a small chat, maybe get Hanzo to laugh a couple times. Instead, he accidentally throws Hanzo’s past back in his face. His brother was finally starting to relax around him and open up about their past, but now he’ll be lucky if they could talk about anything more personal than the weather.

And Jesse! It was grossly out of character for him to attack anyone without _serious_ provocation. His best friend was very much a follower of the “speak softly and carry a big stick” philosophy. For him to lash out at Hanzo after an argument… either Hanzo seriously downplayed the severity of their argument-- which, typical-- or Jesse was under a lot more stress than he had presumed.

Or both.

Genji grimaced and stood restlessly in the cabin, feeling the walls close around him. He needed out. His thoughts couldn’t breathe properly in this cramped tin can excuse for a private jet.

Taking extra care to be silent, he crept into the fuselage. Torbjörn and Lena were still sound asleep, evidenced by their snoring duet. Genji peered out the window, searching for any guards or airport employees. Seeing none, he opened the door just enough to slip through before dropping a meter to the ground below. Invigorated by a heady rush of adrenaline, he sprinted through the airport, relishing the opportunity to exert the full force of his skills. He scaled walls, leapt between hiding nooks, and stalked the shadows until he arrived in the city proper, undetected.

Numbani was beautiful, if quiet for such a large city. Glass paneled buildings soared above the landscape in elegant sweeps and curves. Soft blue lights illuminated the wide, clean streets. Small groups of people and omnics strolled through the evening ambiance, some dressed in white tie finery and others in colorful comfort. There was a family dressed to the nines, the father carrying his daughter on his shoulders who in turn held a shining trophy high.

The absolute harmony and peace the city breathed settled Genji’s agitated spirits and he soon found himself contentedly walking through Numbani’s inviting avenues. He blended in easier than he expected. Omnics were just as numerous as humans here and, unlike many of the world’s more populous cities, omnics stood on equal footing.

Master Zenyatta would love to see this, but then again it would only intensify his vision of a brighter future for omnics. Master's fervent pursuit of peace often led him into… troublesome situations. His heart panged unpleasantly as he remembered the ill-fated outreach mission to the poorest districts of San Francisco. The Silicon Valley was arguably the epicenter of the Omnic Crisis and the area around it still bore the horrendous scars. Only a few were physical.

Wanting to ground himself in the present, Genji looked up at the building before him, studying it. Rather than the reflective or translucent aesthetic favored by most of the city, this building’s glass walls were opaque. Funnily enough, he was fairly certain that this was the hospital Angela described. Wouldn't that be a convenient strike of luck? He couldn't read the language on the signs but-- oh, that crescent moon and star was fairly self explanatory wasn't it? It was definitely _some_ sort of medical facility.

The doors slid open with a small woosh of air, ushering him into a wide lobby. The receptionist at the desk was omnic, dressed in a gold shirt reminiscent of Numbani’s traditional West African roots. They looked up at him as soon as he entered.

“_Barka da yamma_.” The synthesized voice was a pleasant tenor, and while Genji's sensors could oh-so-helpfully inform him the language was _Hausa_, he had no way of translating.

“Ah, I am sorry, would you happen to speak English? _Matawa Nihongo_.”

“Japanese?" The receptionist asked. "Not enough to provide adequate assistance, I am sure. How may I help you?”

“My friend was admitted here." Probably. "Her name is Mei-Ling Zhou. Could you point me in the right direction?”

“It is after visiting hours,” the receptionist noted disapprovingly.

“I know, but I have traveled a very long way to see her. I promise I won’t be long, I just need to see that she is safe.” The omnic watched him passively. “Please?”

The omnic stared at him sightlessly, photoreceptors blinking softly. Genji kept his breathing easy. The receptionist nodded.

“Very well. Take this visitor badge and if there is a red card on her door, do not enter. It is for her health. She is on the fifth floor, room 512. I'll have Mataimaki accompany you." A small drone detached itself from its docking station on the wall, coming to hover over Genji's shoulder. "It will ensure that you do not get lost."

“That is very generous of you,” Genji bowed gratefully. “Thank you.”

It did not take him long to find the right door. Mataimaki was quite insistent that he not stray from some unseen path to the room. There was indeed a red card on Mei’s door, but peeking in the window proved that the scientist was the only one in the room. Surreptitiously checking the back of the red card, Genji was pleased to find it colored green. Now all he had to do is block the drone's view, flip the card, and…. Yes!

Just as he suspected, Mataimaki did not have full AI. Some people might be lazy or intentionally insulting by calling a full AI "it", but omnics _never_ made that mistake. The drone did not attempt to stop him from entering Miss Zhou's room. He was doubly pleased to discover that Mataimaki did not attempt to follow him, either. How considerate of the hospital to have this glaring security oversight!

He stepped into a dim room lit by a single lamp on a bedside table.

“Who... are you?” Miss Zhou's voice was soft, but heavy, as if motivating herself to speak pushed her to her body’s limits.

Genji gave her a once-over. The scientist was propped up slightly in the medical bed, her hands resting on her lap, one on top of the other. While she was still as frightfully thin as when they found her, some color had returned to her face and the EKG monitor beeped in a steady, reassuring rhythm. Even so, everything about her countenance spoke of utter exhaustion and loss. She watched him with half-lidded eyes and without raising her head from her pillow.

“Why do you ask in English?' He countered before realizing that answering a question with a question was rather rude. "Apologies. My name is Genji. I am a part of the team that rescued you.”

“Don't... worry about it," she said slowly, with long pauses for breath. "I don’t... speak... local language. English is... common tongue here.” She closed her eyes for a few moments before opening again. “You... took me... from the Ecopoint? You're... Overwatch?”

Genji hesitated. “Ah, I’m not sure how much Angela told you. I _was_ part of the old Overwatch and, ah, now I am with the new Overwatch. You should not mention our return, though, as we are technically an illegal organization.”

“Oh... Yes. The... Petras Act. So much has... changed in seven years.” Her eyes fluttered shut again, but this time they remained closed. Just as he decided that she must have fallen asleep, she spoke.

“Who is... Angela?”

“Perhaps you know her as Dr. Ziegler.” Miss Zhou's eyes snapped open. He could feel the distrust in her gaze sharply. Why was she reacting this way? Angela was a saint to her patients. Was Miss Zhou the type to be distrustful of doctors? “Is something wrong?”

“How... much do you... know about... cryostasis?”

“Not much, I suppose. You freeze yourself and then thaw out at the end of it?” He tilted his head in confusion. “Actually, that is a good point. How _does_ that work? Wouldn’t freezing yourself kill you in the process?”

Mei didn’t answer. She pointedly allowed the silence to grow. Under her baleful stare, it wasn’t long until Genji felt the pressure to change topics.

“So, ah, they are transferring you to a hospital closer to home tomorrow. Have you contacted your family?”

“What’s... left of them,” she answered bitterly. Her right hand weakly twirled a ring on her left. Genji’s heart sank when he recognized it as a wedding band. He bowed his head, trying to communicate his sorrow and regret.

“I am sorry. I wish... that it could have been different. I wish we could have arrived sooner.”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes shimmered and her lips were beginning to twist in emotional agony. Genji looked on in sympathy. He remembered how that expression looked on his own face all those years ago.

“I," he paused uncertainly. "I was lost once, too. I grew up thinking my family was everything. When they were gone, there was nothing for me to…” He sighed, ending the story before it could begin. Miss Zhou hadn't even had time to process her own situation. She didn't need him to overload her worse. “I know our situations are different, but if you ever need a home… Overwatch will be there for you.” He slid his comm card from its slot in his helmet. Taking hold of her hand, he pressed the chip into her palm. “Here. This is my personal comm chip. You can call any of those numbers if you need help. Winston is our leader. If you decide to join us or just need a place to stay, call him.”

She sniffed thickly. “Winston? The gorilla... scientist?”

“Unless you know any other scientist lunar gorillas in Overwatch?” His attempt at humor was timid and weak, but Mei’s lips twitched into a watery smile anyway.

“Thank you... Genji.”

“Of course. I wish you the best, Zhou Mei-ling.” He bowed formally to her before leaving the room. He closed the door with an inaudible click, turned around, and jumped nearly half a meter in the air.

“Genji! What are you doing here?” Angela hissed, trying to keep her voice from disturbing the other patients and doctors. Her eyes darted to Mataimaki repeatedly. “You’re supposed to be on the plane!”

“I needed to get out!" He defended. "Have you ever been in the same space with Torbjörn for 72 hours?” A light shudder passed through Angela’s frame. “Exactly! Besides, everything is fine as long as I get back to the front desk before my thirty minutes are—oh.”

Angela’s eyes widened beseechingly. “What did you do?”

Genji watched Mataimaki's small screen flash red. “Uh, just lost track of time a little. I’m sure it’s fine. I just need to get to the front desk.”

“Yes, yes, let’s walk and talk so they don’t send security after you.” She ushered him down the hall, anxious to get him out of the hospital. “They gave you a helper bot? To do what?”

“As a guide so I could visit Miss Zhou. She seems very sad.”

A small squeak of distress escaped her. “Her door had a red card! You weren’t supposed to go in there!”

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to leave the plane, either.”

“You are impossible.”

“You love me.” He grinned, sliding an arm around her slightly higher shoulders.

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Against my better judgment.” She gently, but firmly removed his arm. He frowned, trying to ignore the ache that settled in his chest.

They paused at the elevator landing, waiting for the next car to arrive. Genji’s thoughts warred in his mind. He wanted to move at Angela’s pace, of course he did! He wanted to take his time, to be patient for her, wanted to gently press her against the wall and—wait, no. _Patience_.

“Hey, Angela?” _God, I’m hopeless_.

She reached forward to press the ‘down’ button again. “Yes?”

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. This was a terrible, awful, wonderful idea. “Do you think—would you like to try again? I mean, us?” The doors dinged before sliding open. Genji stepped in with her, studying her reaction.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t know.” She paused, shifting on her feet, conflicted. She turned to him. “I still love you,” He grinned beneath his mask. _Kiss her now!_ He began to lift his arm to remove his mask when-- “But you really hurt me.” _Oh_. He let his arm fall to his side. _Kiss her later?_ “I understand why you left and I supported you entirely, but I don’t know if I can open myself up to that again.”

Genji winced. His departure from Overwatch had been abrupt and absolute. Angela had been crushed, obviously. Who wouldn't be if their sort-of kind-of boyfriend left you to join a bunch of hippie omnics in the mountains? She refused to talk to him for nearly a month afterwards. Compared to how they could barely go hours without a text before… well. Message received.

“I'm so sorry, Angela. I never meant to cause you so much pain.”

“No," she sighed. "Don’t apologize, Genji. I may be a doctor, but I can’t cure all wounds. I’m not a miracle worker.” Genji laughed softly, sweeping an arm over himself, referencing his recovery from near-death. She smirked. “Well, not always. We managed to save your body, but we couldn’t reach the real source of your pain and I’m... glad you found healing with the Shambali. Truly.”

A soft feminine voice announced their arrival on the ground floor. Genji returned Mataimaki to the front desk, thanking the receptionist profusely for their kindness. Once outside, Angela resumed the conversation.

“It did sting when I realized I couldn’t heal you. Saving lives in whatever way I can, no matter the cost, is my life’s work. That you didn’t need or... want me to do that hurt more than you leaving.”

"I shouldn't have left the way I did, though."

"No," she agreed. "You shouldn't have."

They walked together on Numbani’s main thoroughfare, not quite touching, occasionally brushing together. He didn't know what occupied Angela's thoughts, but for him? He could only where'd they be if he made only slightly different choices. If he had been a slightly better person.

“In the end," Angela said, bringing his attention back to her-- not that it ever strayed away for long. "I think I grew from it. I learned to accept that I have limitations. Zurich had a big hand in that, too.” She kept her eyes trained on the ground as she said the last bit. Genji tentatively took her hand, hoping to bring her some small comfort. She squeezed once before letting go.

Genji swallowed the hurt.

Angela stopped abruptly when the airport came into view. “How are we going to get you back in? I only have my own pass.”

“A ninja is nothing without his secrets,” he teased her half-heartedly. “Can we walk a little more?”

She hesitated.

Genji took the opportunity to admire her profile. The luminescent blue lights that lined the streets of Numbani chilled her normally warm complexion and dulled her vibrant sapphire eyes. Her hair clung to the nape of her neck, stringy from the lack of proper showers. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She was beautiful. A heavenly spirit walking the earth.

She nodded, turning about on a heel and leading them back into the city. Neither spoke. As much as he wanted to, he simply didn't know how to breach the silence. No destination guided their steps and he couldn't tell which of them was leading their wandering walk. They ended up in a back alley, although in Numbani it didn’t carry the connotation of abandoned or shady. A sheer cliff of glass soared above them on one side while in front of them, a series of benches ringed a small circular garden. By unspoken agreement, they sat with their backs to the city. The savanna sprawled before them, illuminated in silver light from the waxing half-moon.

“We do not have to decide tonight.” Genji finally said, not looking at her for fear of losing his nerve. “If you already know that you don’t… that we are better off as friends, I will accept that.” He fidgeted in place. He really did not want to remove his mask. That thin but invaluable shield was his last defence, his most personal barrier. He knew it was right, though, for what he had to say next. He removed it carefully, taking a shuddering breath.

“I just want you to know that you are right." He swallowed. "I left so I could make myself a better man, but it wasn’t for you. It was for me. I don’t think people can change for the sake of others, it must be for themselves. But... it was _because _of you that I felt I could be more than what I was. You acted as though I was _good_, as if I was kind, and we both know that I was neither of those things at the time.” He quirked his lips at her. She mirrored the expression, no doubt reminiscing about their first few disastrous interactions.

“It made me feel as if I _should _be those things. Even in the very beginning I was enamored with you, but I resented you for the way you made me feel—as if I wasn’t good enough for you." He took a deep breath, willing his heart to not beat quite so loudly. "As we got to know each other and eventually started dating, that feeling never really went away. It was just easier to bury under stronger emotions, like respect. And admiration. Happiness. And love.” His voice softened with every word, ending barely above a whisper.

He reached for more words, to better explain the transcendent effects of his love for her. They all escaped him, dancing out his reach on the wind. He glanced over to her helplessly.

Angela was smiling at him. It was small, close-lipped, and a little bit sad. He felt desperation well up within him. When he started this discussion, he thought he was ready to accept her answer, but as the likelihood of rejection rose with every passing second, he felt the weight of loss threaten to overwhelm him. He could feel his eyes watering.

She reached for him. She put one soft hand on his cheek, and then the other. He reached up to cover her hand, holding it against his face. She gently pulled him towards her. He closed his eyes. The kiss was soft and gentle and chaste and absolutely heart rending. He knew he was crying. She drew back, their lips catching briefly before separating. She swiped her thumb across his cheek, dragging a tear away.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She searched his face, concern overlaying her small smile. “Are you okay?”

Genji soundlessly nodded his head. Then he shook his head. She gave a watery chuckle, and he realized for the first time that he wasn’t the only one with wet eyes.

Angela scooted across the bench, slotting herself into his side. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, relishing the contact. They held each other and watched the moon climb higher into the sky.

“I missed you,” she whispered. He held her closer, dipping his head into the crook of her neck.

“And I missed you.” He snuck a small kiss on her throat, eliciting a giggle and a playful shove. “And I love you.”

She turned her face up at him with a smile so wide and warm he swore he was falling all over again.

“I love you too, Genji.”


	8. Requests

Jesse woke suddenly to the sound of a blaring alarm. He slammed his fist on the sturdy clock, temporarily silencing it for the next ten minutes. Bonelessly falling back on the thin pillow he closed his eyes tightly, an aftertaste of blood and anger heavy on his tongue.

_Please be a dream_. 

He groggily dragged his palm over his face, reluctantly opening his eyes to investigate his hand’s unusually rough texture. A white bandage stretched around his palm and when he twisted it around to examine his knuckles, he could see the pink stain bleeding through the fabric. 

Wasn’t a dream. He actually hit Genji’s brother. Fuck. 

Throwing the covers away from him, he rolled out of bed. Disguising it as cleaning his disorderly room, Jesse paced the floor. He lost it last night. He fuckin’ lost control and now he’s going to face the consequences, what the hell was wrong with him, he knew better, he was _better than this_—except no, he wasn’t. Jesse abruptly stopped pacing, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tried to regain control of his thoughts. 

First and foremost, Jesse was a runner. He’d long ago come to terms with this particular flaw, nestled somewhere between his talent for lying and his propensity for laziness. The truth of it was he’d sooner abandon his problems than fight them. Ain’t any problem too big to leave behind, he'd always say. He had run from trouble to Deadlock, from Deadlock to Blackwatch, from Blackwatch to life as an outlaw, and if Genji hadn’t caught him he would have run away from the Recall, too. It’s only when he’s cornered that he fights, and last night Shimada just wouldn’t let go. He half-sat, half-fell on his bed, staring at the bandage on his hand.

Would Genji forgive him for this? He chuckled mirthlessly at his own thoughtless question. If Genji could forgive his brother for attempting to murder him, he’d surely forgive Jesse for breaking Shimada’s face. Hell, he’d probably applaud Jesse for his restraint. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be consequences, though. 

Genji would lose faith in him. Shimada would gain favor. He’d be expected to play nice, to make more of an effort at civility. If he didn’t… Genji might forgive him, but if he was forced to choose between his brother and Jesse, there was no guarantee that Jesse would come out on top. And really, why would he choose Jesse? For nostalgia? For old time’s sake? Not when he had finally reconnected with the only blood relation he had left in the world. No, when push came to shove, Genji would choose Shimada.

By fighting off Shimada last night, Jesse had only managed to back himself into another corner. A civil truce would no longer be an option when Genji inevitably discovered their fight, it would be a _necessity_. An ultimatum between staying or leaving. The only question was if Jesse could manage it. There’s a lot he’d do for Genji’s sake, but a truce is a two person problem and he punched the other half of the equation. He’d be one miracle short of sainthood if he managed to sweet talk Shimada into an armistice. Might as well save himself the trouble and pack now. 

He looked around his room, at his hat hanging on the wall, his boots by his bedside, his few possessions scattered over the desk and on the floor. If he took his time, it might take him half an hour to gather all his things. He sighed, worn and weary. Which came first, traveling light or traveling often?

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo tossed the tablet on his desk, leaning back in his chair with eyes closed, brows furrowed. Today had been absolute shit. All day he vacillated between indignant fury over last night’s confrontation and contemplative shame over McCree’s subsequent confession. He thought he understood McCree before. A simple kind of man, easygoing but quick to anger and not particularly complex in thought or emotion. The American’s vindictive pleasure in causing Hanzo pain and discomfort reinforced his caricature as a violent thug. 

That’s why he had been so terrified when the man aimed his revolver at him that morning. As Hanzo had defined him, McCree would shoot him and wash his hands of his existence without a glimmer of guilt. But then he missed, with less than three meters between them. It was such a drastic departure from Hanzo’s expectations that he pursued him and demanded an explanation. He winced, absently rubbing his severely bruised wrist, remembering the sound of his own bones crunching underneath a metal fist.

He still didn’t like McCree, unrefined and vulgar as he was, but he did hold him at a new level of respect. Unlike the fight at villa, Hanzo didn’t have the excuse of deep wounds to explain away McCree’s physical prowress. His own lack of focus and arrogance directly contributed to his embarrassing defeat, but McCree’s strength and startlingly quick reflexes secured it. The unexpected skill would have forced him to reevaluate the cowboy entirely, but not as thoroughly as his final words inspired. 

Would he still think himself superior to McCree without that searing speech tearing apart all Hanzo’s preconceptions? The punch made him pay attention to his words, but the _content_ of his impassioned rant is what truly forced him to acknowledge McCree as an equal. He could dismiss vengeance and blind loyalty as indicators of lesser character, but McCree’s story spoke of duty and defense of a brother. The last point was a very... _recent _understanding, gift of Genji’s holovid call. 

Genji’s concern for McCree was unsurprising given their extensive history, but the same could not be said for his declaration that the cowboy was a brother to him. Hanzo had assumed that McCree’s sense of brotherhood was one-sided, that Genji assigned the same flippant importance to McCree as he did all his ever-changing roster of friends in the past. It wasn’t a large stretch of imagination; McCree’s parting words spoke of a loneliness that would make any man susceptible to forming strong bonds with a person simply for giving him the time of day. That Genji substantiated McCree’s sentiments changed the tone and meaning behind all the latter’s actions.

Were their positions reversed, would Hanzo not take the same precautions against a stranger with a violent past? Would he not harbor the same anger and resentment against the man who once called Genji brother? Would it not be the ultimate betrayal to have his brother in arms abandon him in favor of a failed brother in blood? Hanzo grimaced, recalling Genji’s casual reference to his own betrayal. 

If Genji calling McCree a brother coaxed him into a new understanding, realizing the full implications of Genji reigniting their relationship at the cost of McCree’s was a paradigm shift. McCree did not abandon his brother even in the face of this apparent treachery. He actually _assisted _Genji in finding and capturing Hanzo, prioritizing Genji’s health and happiness over his own misgivings and disappointment. Realizing that McCree was a better brother to Genji than Hanzo ever had been inspired both crushing guilt and infinite gratitude. The guilt he was well acquainted with, but the relief he felt in the marrow of his bones knowing McCree cared for his younger brother in his absence was foreign and strange.

The animosity between himself and McCree was no longer acceptable. It dishonored his brother to treat the American with such disrespect and derision as he had the past week. 

He gingerly pressed a finger to his cheek, wincing at the fiery pain that flared across his face at the light touch. It would be difficult to persuade McCree of his solemn intentions. The likelihood of becoming easy companions was not high. No matter. Friendship might be out of their reach and willingness, but Hanzo would not allow an ally of his brother to be an enemy of his own. Genji would return tomorrow and Hanzo would show him that the confrontation with McCree truly wasn’t anything to worry about.

Resolute in his decision, he pulled on his slate gray hoodie, careful not to put pressure on his cheek. The evening’s mild weather was still too warm for the extra layer, but Hanzo did not want to display the bruises on his wrist. There was nothing he could do about his face, unfortunately, but one bruise was easier to pass off as an accident than a series of bruises. 

Once outside, he paused in the middle of the courtyard, realizing he didn’t know where to find McCree. He immediately ruled out triggering whatever alarm system McCree set up in the range. Even if he did choose to show up, Hanzo doubted summoning him in such a manner would put him in an amenable mood. He hesitated for another moment, scanning his surroundings for a suggestion. Across the courtyard, the kitchen’s window glowed warmly. _There_. Short, quick strides carried him across the open space and into the bright room. Inside, Reinhardt and Brigitte chatted amiably and loudly over the remains of their meal—something with a savory scent and brown sauce.

“Hanzo! I did not know you were joining us for dinner.” Reinhardt said, frowning regrettably. “I would have made more.”

“No, it is fine. I am looking for McCree. Do you know where I can find him?”

Brigitte rose a brow in his direction. “Are you going to ask him to give you a matching black eye? I can save you the trouble of searching.”

Reinhardt crossed his massively muscled arms. “If you keep that up, Brigitte, I won’t give you any of my famous German chocolate cake!” His assistant squawked in protest and he chuckled before returning his attention to Hanzo. “I must ask what you want with him. I do not want either of you to end up in the med bay while our doctor is away.”

“I have no intention of fighting him.” Reinhardt did not respond, looking nonplussed. Hanzo cast his gaze to the side. “I only wish to speak with him. And… perhaps apologize.”

“I see.” The Crusader rumbled, leveling a skeptical gaze at him. Hanzo struggled not to fidget under the evaluating stare. “He lives in room 1-377. Climb the stairs to the next floor and follow the signs to the third block. It is easy to find from there.” Relieved that he passed the unspoken test, Hanzo nodded his thanks and scurried out of the kitchen. Reinhardt’s booming voice called after him: “And good luck, _mein freund_!”

In what felt like only moments, Hanzo found himself standing in front of door 1-377. This was a terrible idea. McCree was going to punch him in sight_._ He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension in his back and arms. The things he did for Genji. 

He knocked on the door and took a step back, safely out of arm’s reach. Then another step, for the sake of caution. The sound of shuffling on the other side of the door reached him: footsteps crossing the floor, the clink of glass, and a call of “just a minute!” The door opened wide, light spilling onto Hanzo before a tall shape blocked most of it. 

McCree stood before him, dressed in his typical attire—jeans and a flannel shirt, although the sleeves were rolled up to the elbow this time— a tumbler of dark amber liquid in his hand and a half-hearted smile in an open expression. An expression that clouded immediately when McCree realized who his visitor was. The door narrowed, now only just wide enough for McCree to watch him suspiciously, closing off the room from Hanzo’s view.

“What d’you want?”

Hanzo eyed the glass doubtfully. He did not wish to have this conversation if there was a chance McCree might not remember. This was a one-time only apology. “You are not drunk, are you?”

“I’m already wishin’ I was,” he said before downing the two fingers of alcohol.

“No, do not—fine.” Hanzo shoved his hands in the pocket of his sweater. “I want to start over.” 

McCree snorted, lip curling in distaste as he stepped back and began to close the door. A brief moment of indecision as Hanzo wrestled with his sense of self-preservation before he lunged at the door, shoving his foot in the door jamb. “Hear me out! I am doing this for Genji, if you care anything for him you will want to listen to what I have to say.” The door opened again and McCree rushed in to fill the space. Hanzo flinched but stood his ground.

“You’ve got some gall sayin’ that to me.”

“I know, I apologize, but I need to speak with you.” He watched McCree warily, ready to leap back at the slightest indication of violence.

McCree folded his arms. “Well? I’m waitin’.”

No sense in waiting for another invitation. “Genji considers you to be a brother. I did not understand the depth of your relationship before. I did not know your history or that you protected him or—“

“Cut to the chase.”

His brow twitched in irritation. “I want to thank you.” Formal custom would dictate that he bow to convey his sincerity, but he could not quite convince his stiff body that it was safe to do so.

“Come again?” Utter confusion reigned supreme on the taller man’s features.

“For taking care of Genji in my absence.”

“In your _absence_?”

He could hear the outrage building in McCree’s voice and decided to intervene before his fist found the _other _half of his face. “Yes. I had no way to know he lived. I spent the past fifteen years bringing honor to an empty shrine instead of guiding and protecting him.”

“Y’know, if you hadn’t tried to kill him in the first place, maybe you wouldn’t have had that problem.” McCree’s accusing stare was fiery enough to burn holes in the souls of lesser men. It annoyed Hanzo.

“I cannot change the past, but I can shape the future. That is what I’m here for. Genji should not have to choose between two brothers.” There it was—the change in demeanor. McCree drew back slightly, allowing Hanzo room to breathe easy. He could see that the wariness had not left the man’s eyes, but now it was joined by cautious curiosity. “I have no intention of leaving him and I suspect that neither do you.”

“…What are you proposin’?”

“That the friend of my brother is my friend as well.” McCree’s expression soured. “Or at least, is not my enemy,” he quickly amended. 

McCree narrowed his eyes, staring down the length of his nose. Hanzo had to crane his neck back to meet the challenging stare. Why did Americans have to be so damn tall?

“Wait here.” The door slammed in his face. He took a few hasty steps back, not sure if McCree wanted to sucker punch him again. The door opened abruptly and McCree stepped out, a brown leather jacket hugging his shoulders. Without speaking or even looking his way, McCree walked right by him to the stairs.

“What—where are you going?”

“Kitchen. You comin’?” 

Hanzo gritted his teeth, growling a few choice explicatives in Japanese before padding after the taller man. McCree continued to ignore his presence, striding into the shared kitchen without holding the door open. The room was empty; Reinhardt and Brigitte must have already cleaned their dishes and left. Good. Fewer witnesses. 

“Sit.”

He shot an incredulous look at McCree. “I am not a dog.”

“Suit yourself.” McCree began rummaging through a series of cabinets, pulling out two mugs and bowls. He watched, bemused, as McCree pulled out a tupperware box and placed the two mugs underneath the coffee maker.

“I do not drink coffee.”

“Good to know,” McCree said dismissively, not pausing in his preparations as filled the bowls with whatever brown glop resided in the tupperware. He placed the bowls in the microwave and returned to foraging through the cabinets. Arms full, McCree deposited a roll of paper towels, a large packet of saltine crackers, and a small bowl of cheddar cheese in the center of the dining table. The microwave dinged in tandem with the coffee maker and Hanzo realized that this must be a frequent ritual for the man to time it so well. McCree deposited both bowls on the table, grabbed the coffee mugs, and sat down in one of the chairs. 

Hanzo could only frown in confusion.

McCree glanced up at him, before rolling his eyes. “Sit your ass down.”

Hanzo obliged. “What is this?” The food in the bowl appeared to be some kind of stew—though there was no broth— and the scent wafting off the mugs was certainly not coffee.

“Dinner. Can’t be friends until you share a meal.” 

Oh. McCree was accepting his offer. This was his way of sealing the deal, so to speak. Hanzo looked at the meal in trepidation, poking at it with his spoon. Turning it down would be extremely disrespectful, but the prospect of eating mystery meat was not very appealing. 

“Just try it," McCree said. How embarrassing to be caught hesitating... "It’s spicy. Just so you know. I usually make it a bit more mild when cookin’ for others, but I made this batch ‘specially for me.”

Cautiously, Hanzo took his first bite. Heat flooded his mouth, followed swiftly by a full, hearty flavor. Swallowing, he shoved another spoonful through his lips. McCree was right, it was spicy, almost more than he could bear, but it was also delicious. He tentatively cleared his throat. “This is good. What is it?” Without thinking, he reached for his mug, taking a small sip. A surprised hum escaped him when he realized it wasn’t coffee but a very sweet black tea with minty overtones.

“Chili. Picked up the recipe somewhere in east Texas. It’s mostly ground beef and chili beans, but it’s got some tomato and green chilies in there, too. Spices, too, of course, but that’s the secret part of the recipe. You can add in some cheddar if it’s too spicy, or throw some crackers into it.” 

As McCree spoke, Hanzo dropped a spoonful of cheese in his bowl, but glanced up in confusion at the mention of crackers. A wry smile spread across McCree’s face and Hanzo was struck by how nice it felt to not be the subject of the cowboy’s ire. McCree tore open the saltine packet, pulling five or so crackers. He brought his hands together over his bowl and _crushed_, letting small bits of cracker fall into his bowl. 

“Normally I eat it plain, but I s’pose I need the calories anyhow.” 

Hanzo mimicked McCree’s demonstration before mixing it all together with his spoon, taking an experimental bite. The spicy heat had indeed dulled down without sacrificing the flavor of the chili.

“Should we discuss…?” he began uncertainly, watching as McCree practically inhaled his meal.

“I don’t talk business at the dinner table.”

Hanzo hummed in agreement. This is not how he thought his day would end, but he couldn’t say it was unwelcome. They finished their meal without speaking, although the contented slurps and scraping of spoons against ceramic bowls prevented total silence.

“Thank you for the meal, McCree.”

“Don’t thank me yet," he chuckled. "Folks who ain’t accustomed to my kind of spicy tend to visit the porcelain throne.” 

Unsure if McCree was joking, he stared, face twisted in consternation. McCree burst out laughing, full and rich. He felt his ears burn in embarrassment. 

“Nah, the only guy who had a problem with it was from the northeastern part of the States, where they think salt is a spice.” McCree gave a mock shudder. “_Yankees_.”

He couldn't understand it. McCree seemed so… relaxed. Here Hanzo was, sharing a meal with a man who had pointed a gun at him twice with every intention of pulling the trigger, and McCree didn't seem to care. How does such anger and distrust just… melt away? Even when he had watched the cowboy interact with his friends from afar there had been an edge to his smiles, a deliberate balance of easiness and wariness. Was it because of him that McCree was always so tense? Is he only now relaxing because Hanzo offered peace?

“Uh, you all right there?”

Startled out of his thoughts, he felt his ears flush again as he realized he had been staring. “Ah, yes, my apologies. I am just... surprised at how willing you are to accept my offer.”

“Here’s the deal, Shimada--”

He winced. “Please, do not call me Shimada. I abandoned that name when I abandoned the clan. My name is Hanzo.”

McCree held up his hands in apology. “If you insist. Here’s the thing, _Hanzo_, I was goin’ to ask you the same. About makin’ a truce.”

“You were?”

“Yup. I already told you, I only have a handful of people worth trustin’ in my life and Genji is forefront among ‘em. I’m sure it’ll surprise you to no end that I’m completely aware of where I stand in Genji’s life. I ain’t as important to him as you are. I don’t begrudge him for it; I know if _my _little brother walked out of his grave tomorrow I’d drop everythin’ for him.” McCree Rose from the table, collected their dirty dishes, and deposited them in the sink.

Hanzo stood. “Please, let me clean the dishes. It is only fair, as you provided the meal.”

McCree held up his hands and backed away from the sink. “Don’t let me dissuade you then, I hate washin’ dishes." He leaned against the opposite wall. "Anyway. What I’m gettin’ at is that when Genji gets back tomorrow and sees what I did to you, he might ask me to leave. Hell, I’d even say it’s likely.” 

Hanzo bit his cheek. McCree didn’t know about his call with Genji. He didn’t know that Genji already saw the damage, but informing him would tip the bargaining power out of Hanzo’s favor. He remained silent. 

“I ain’t gonna lose my best friend because of you. If that means buryin’ the hatchet, then so be it. But let me be plain.” 

Hanzo stopped scrubbing a bowl when McCree didn’t continue. He twisted around to see McCree pinning him with steely eyes. 

“If you hurt Genji or any of Overwatch in any shape or form, I will kill you.”

“You think yourself so skilled that you would succeed?”

“I don’t consider survivin’ a part of the victory conditions.”

He stared at McCree, trying to find any evidence of a bluff. He found none. “Very well.” Hanzo turned back to the sink, trying to ignore the instincts that insisted he keep the enemy in his field of view. “What are the terms of this truce?”

“We already covered the no hurtin’ part, but I would add that I expect you to join Overwatch formally.”

The bowl clattered into the sink. “What?”

“You’re wastin’ Overwatch resources sittin’ on your ass. You’re gonna pull your weight. Any mission I go on, you go on.”

Hanzo gaped at him. “You trust me to watch your back?”

“_Hell_ no. I trust you to know that if I don’t make it back from a mission you’re gonna be suspect _numero uno_.”

“Fine. I have terms as well.”

“Oh no, you don’t get any terms.”

“How is that fair?”

“You’re the one who came to me callin’ for a truce. I get to call the shots.”

“You just said that you were going to do the same!”

“But I didn’t.”

“You are insufferable.”

“I’m a god damn _delight_. I’ll humor you, though. What terms were you interested in?”

“You will stop following me.”

A smug smile spread across McCree’s face. Hanzo’s fingers flexed unconsciously, itching to erase the look from his features. “I ain’t followin’ you.”

“How do you know when I am in the range, then?”

“Ain’t your business. I’m not followin’ you, though.”

“Fine, then stop hovering while I am in the range. I do not require a chaperone.”

“I beg to differ, partner. Only a fool would leave his enemy unattended near a weapons cache.”

“Then a fool you are, for I am never without my weapons.”

“Please tell me this ain’t a set-up to a ‘my arms are guns’ joke.”

“What? No, I am referring to my bow.”

McCree’s laughter boomed through the small kitchen. Hanzo gritted his teeth and glowered at the cowboy. Catching the irritated look on his face, McCree stilled. “You’re serious?” He nodded. A red flush crawled up McCree’s cheeks, he had to look twice before he realized that, yes, McCree was _blushing_. “Oh.” The cowboy’s voice seemed small without its usual bluster. “I thought it was just a hobby.” McCree reached up with his flesh hand, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, I guess that’s fair then. I’ll stop badgerin’ you in the range. Guess I’ll know who killed Reinhardt if there’s a big arrow stickin’ out of his neck.”

“I would never--!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve seen the light, you’re a new man, whatever. Is there anythin’ else we need to cover?”

Placing the dried bowls in the cabinet, Hanzo tilted his head thoughtfully. “What will we tell Genji?”

“The truth. We made a truce. I still don’t trust you and you still don’t like me. I don’t wanna pretend to be friends or any of that shit.”

Hanzo nodded. “These terms are acceptable.”

The chair scraped against tile as McCree stood up, hand extended. “All that’s left is to shake on it.” 

Hanzo resisted rolling his eyes at the Western tradition, instead taking McCree’s large and surprisingly cold hand in his before giving a firm shake. McCree nodded in satisfaction before turning to leave the kitchen. He raised a hand as he passed through the doorway. 

“G’night, Hanzo. Don’t forget to talk to Winston in the mornin’.” 

Hanzo watched him leave, lips pressed thin. What did he just get himself into?


	9. Reputation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: there's a fight where the insult get a little personal, not sure how to label it exactly.

Genji pulled up short at the bottom of the jet’s airstair. As he expected, the Overwatch members who had remained at the Watchpoint had all turned out for the Antarctica team’s return. As he did _not _expect, Jesse and Hanzo were standing side by side. The distance between them was awkward, as though attempt at closeness contrary to their natures. It reminded him of forcing two magnets together as a child, trying to overcome natural laws by force of will alone. It was _bizarre_.

“Oof!” A sudden force at his back had Genji twisting around, catching Angela before she could crash to the ground.

His lips twitched. “I see that you are falling for me all over again.” 

She huffed and slapped at his chest. “I wouldn’t be falling at all if you didn’t stop so suddenly.” 

He gently set her back on her feet, subtly tilting his head toward his brother and best friend. Her blue eyes followed the motion, catching sight of the odd duo. She breathed out a shocked “oh” before practically flying to Hanzo. 

“What happened to your face? How long have you been without medical attention? Why didn’t you call me?” Hanzo backpedaled from the doctor, eyes wide. 

Hm. Probably should’ve mentioned their fight to Angela.Genji shrugged mentally, walking to join the group. Oh well.

Jesse rose a brow at the doctor, wisely taking a step back from her questioning. “Well, hello to you too, Doc.”

A hiss escaped Hanzo when Angela prodded his cheek. “Please, Dr. Ziegler, there is no cause for alarm. I have suffered worse before.”

“I was not your medical provider before! We are going to the clinic immediately. I need to examine the injury.”

Discomfort stretched across Hanzo’s face. Well, it wouldn’t really help Hanzo, but maybe his brother would feel better if Genji put up a token defence for him. “Angela, it is only a bruise.”

She shot him a withering glare. Yeah, no, Hanzo was on his own.

“I’m sorry, who attended eight years’ worth of medical school at two top-tier institutions? _I _am the doctor here. You,” Hanzo shrunk under her steely gaze, “follow me.”

“Um, Dr. Ziegler?” 

Genji glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Winston approaching. Behind the gorilla’s massive figure he could see Torbjörn reuniting with Reinhardt and Brigitte.

Angela whirled, baring her teeth in what might have been meant as a grin. “Yes?” 

Poor Winston blinked in confusion at her acidic tone. “Oh, uh, I just wanted to say welcome back.” Angela softened, a more genuine smile smoothing out her features. “It’s only ten and it’s been a long journey for everyone, so I, um, moved the debrief to after dinner. We’ll cover your mission and then discuss, uh, possible upcoming missions.”

She laid her comparatively small hand on his thickly furred shoulder, smiling brightly. “That is very thoughtful of you, Winston, thank you! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my patient.” 

Hanzo’s eyes darted to him, pleading for intervention. Snickering, Genji only gave a cheery wave goodbye and admired the view as Angela led Hanzo away, her heels clicking sharply on the road. Winston shook his head in bemusement before returning to Lena.

Jesse was still standing beside him, nonchalantly chewing on an unlit cigar, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His silence betrayed him, however. He never allowed quiet to linger unless there was excellent incentive for him to avoid conversation. 

“So,” Genji began. Jesse shifted his weight on his feet. “You and Hanzo?”

A beat passed. “What about it?”

“That was a rather large bruise on his face.”

Jesse chewed a little faster. 

“What is the story there?”

“Dunno. Maybe he had a training accident with that bow of his or somethin’.”

“Yes, or something.” Genji agreed dryly, only mildly disappointed that Jesse didn’t take the opportunity to come clean. “Perhaps he simply fell. Into your fist. Repeatedly.”

Jesse winced. “You already knew.”

“Of course,” he said, exasperated. “But I would like to hear your side of the story. Hanzo insists that the issue has been resolved. Seeing the two of you tolerating each other’s presence has led me to believe that either he is being honest, or you are both trying very hard to lie.”

“Ain’t that the same thing?” 

Genji shrugged, waiting for Jesse to address his question. Normally, this tactic didn’t work on him, but that’s only when _other_ people tried to outwait Jesse. Genji knew he only had to hold his silence long enough for the guilt to start eating Jesse from the inside, which ended up being only half a minute.

“Hanzo wasn’t lyin’. We struck a truce. We ain’t friends or anything, but we won’t fight anymore.”

Genji tipped his head in acceptance. “Not that I am displeased with this development--” honestly, he was pretty ecstatic to hear they were more or less getting along “--but I do not understand. What caused your change of heart?”

“First of all, I still don’t trust the guy. It’s not like we shared s’mores, sang kumbaya, and called it a night.” Pity. “Second,” Jesse discreetly flicked his eyes over their surroundings, ensuring no one was within earshot, instantly making Genji deathly curious. When he spoke again, his voice was much lower. “Second, Talon is still actively hunting agents.”

“_What_?”

Jesse nodded solemnly, to Genji’s horror. “Not just Blackwatch agents, neither. Overwatch agents. Hundreds of ‘em. Apparently Winston has been keeping track of everyone since the fall. He’s probably gonna bring this up at the debrief tonight, but I think he wants to go after Talon.”

“Iris,” he breathed, taking it all in. He shook his head. “Winston underestimates Talon. We cannot fight them when we only number eight.”

“I agree. That’s why I got Hanzo to join. It’s still not anywhere close to what we need, but—“

Genji stilled, processing Jesse’s words. “You—Hanzo has joined Overwatch?” After constantly inviting him for weeks, Hanzo joins the _moment _Genji is away? Typical.

“Yeah, this mornin’. It’s part of the truce. He’ll go on all the same missions that I do; I don’t trust him on his own.”

He wasn’t irritated that Hanzo accepted Jesse’s invitation but not his. He _wasn’t_. “So you hear Talon is still targeting agents and then coerce my brother into joining Overwatch? At this point, I think you are just acting out an elaborate assassination plot.”

“Now that’s just uncalled for!” Jesse removed the cigar from his mouth and lit it, taking a deep draw before cocking a grin. “What’s more honorable than dyin’ in the line of duty, anyhow?”

“_Jesse_.” His best friend's rich laugh pealed through the air and Genji grinned despite himself. “Ugh, I almost miss Torbjörn.”

“Ouch. Really know how to step on a guy’s heart, don’t you?”

Hearts. Why did he feel like there was something important about-- oh right! Genji cleared his throat, inexplicably nervous. “Speaking of hearts… Angela and I are together. Officially.”

Jesse blinked at him in surprise before laughing loudly. “You dog!” Genji pitched forward as Jesse enthusiastically patted him on the back. “Bout damn time, too. We should celebrate!”

Genji breathed a small sigh of relief-- wait, no. Sigh of, ah… satisfaction, yes! He couldn’t be relieved because he hadn’t been nervous. Right? Right. “Perhaps later this week,” he answered Jesse. “I need to rest before the meeting tonight.” 

Jesse’s smile flickered. Concerned, he tried peering up into Jesse’s face, but the moroseness—did he just imagine it?—was already gone, replaced by a sly grin.

“Alright, then. Make sure you let Angela rest, too.”

Genji grunted in annoyance. “You know that is not what I meant!” 

Jesse winked mischievously, tipping his hat in a silent goodbye before striding away.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Unquestionably, the Antarctica mission was a success.” Winston shuffled a stack of papers, pulling out a report seemingly at random. 

The agents gathered around the table—Hanzo included, to Genji’s everlasting astonishment—listened attentively. 

“Our goal was to salvage data in whatever form we could, discover the fate of the scientists, and rescue any survivors. We collected a total of thirty-seven sources of data; Athena is cataloging them as we speak. After we determine what is on each disk, we’ll move to analyzing the unencrypted files. The encrypted files may be a little more difficult, depending on whether we can find a copy of a decrypting key somewhere on file or if we’ll have to buy one. Even with at least three disks suffering from cold-weather related damage, the initial overview suggests we have upwards of five hundred terabytes of information to sort through, so I would not expect immediate results.”

Genji turned his head at the sound of Jesse giving a low whistle. “Is all of that about their experiments?”

“Well, there isn’t any way to tell, yet. Like I said, Athena is analyzing the data right now, so…” Winston cleared his throat. “Right. While I’m sure it doesn’t _feel _like a success, we were also able to solve the mystery of what exactly happened to the scientists.” 

Genji thought of the cryo chamber at Ecopoint: Antarctica and the six cylindrical tombs that circled the room. No. It certainly did not feel like a success. 

“And what’s more, we rescued Mei-Ling Zhou from cryostasis. We managed to accomplish every task we had set! So, um, comments?”

Mentally brushing the melancholy away, Genji raised his hand. “Sustain: excellent medical staff.” 

Angela blushed and Jesse muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘suck-up’.

Winston nodded earnestly. “Yes, Dr. Ziegler’s quick thinking and medical expertise were key in Zhou’s survival.”

A small, broad hand shot into the air and Torbjörn’s gruff voice spoke out. “Improve: contingency plans. We had tasks, but no guidance on what to do for those tasks. ‘Collect all available data’ is easy enough, but there was no procedure for what to do with survivors. No plan for casualties, no secured medical facility, nothing!”

From the corner of his visor, he could see Angela bristle. Oh, no. There was no possible timeline where this would get resolved as a peaceful argument. 

“That is what I was there for,” she replied. Her voice imitated the needles she drew blood with: sharp, cold, and entirely too intimidating for something its size. “To provide guidance on what to do in the event of a medical emergency. A task I _believe _I performed to satisfaction.”

“No one’s saying you weren’t dazzlin’, darlin’,” Genji’s head whipped to Jesse. He tried to warn him by shaking his head without drawing everyone’s attention, but he didn’t notice. “Havin’ a standard operating procedure for medical emergencies is just good practice.”

Torbjörn slapped his fist on the table. “Exactly! We shouldn’t have to rely on one person on the mission. What if the good doctor was injured? Then who could have illegally landed in Numbani National Airport and worked some sort of black magic to sneak a legally dead woman into one of the world’s best and most secure hospitals?”

Genji stared at Torbjörn. The engineer wasn’t wrong. Having no redundancy or chain of command established was poor practice, but his manner of delivery was edging awfully close to a line that would be dangerous to cross. The others seemed to sense that, more or less. The air had turned brittle. A red-faced Lena seemed to be literally holding her breath. Reinhardt’s eyebrows were raised halfway to his hairline while Brigitte was leaning forward, unabashedly entertained. Hanzo and Jesse had remarkably similar expressions of guarded interest. Winston was scratching his chest again. 

“Is there something you would like to say to me, Herr Lindholm?” Angela asked in her coolest tone.

He could see from the look in her eyes that she was ready for a fight-- but the team didn’t need that, not now. They could still settle this privately. “Angela,” Genji whispered, hoping to distract her from the stare down with Torbjörn. She didn’t even blink.

Torbjörn leaned forward on his mechanical arm. “After the Fall, most doctors and scientists of Overwatch couldn’t find jobs waiting tables, let alone securing posts at internationally recognized hospitals. A few laid low with their private practices or charity work, but not you. No, Doctor Angela Ziegler somehow emerged a hero of Zurich, despite a body count that numbered in the hundreds.” 

Angela blanched. Defensive anger flushed Genji’s face. How dare he throw Zurich in her face, as though it was her fault?! Hundreds might have died, but hundreds more would have perished if she hadn't been there! A small _pop_ and a hiss forced his attention to his body armor, which had opened exhaust ports in anticipation of a fight. He grit his teeth. There did _not_ need to be a fight. He started breathing forcefully through his nose, but had little success achieving a calmer state of mind.

Reinhardt frowned at his lifelong friend. “That is out of line, Torbjörn!”

“Bah!” He sneered and Genji could feel his hackles raise. “You want out of line? While her peers were ridiculed for even _considering _serving Overwatch, she was lauded as a national treasure! How does a twenty-something year old doctor fresh out of medical school with only one published paper end up having contacts at Numbani National? You’re good, Ziegler, but no one is _that _good. Who did you have to sleep with to get that job?”

“_Urusai_!” Genji was out of his chair before Torbjörn even finished his sentence. He vaguely registered the other agents surging to their feet as well, but he was too busy bearing down on the Swede to care. Reinhardt shoved his way in front of him, blocking Torbjörn from his reach. Genji snarled at the interference and Hanzo was suddenly by his side, face blank but body tensed for action.

“HEY,” Jesse’s booming voice cut through the generally outraged uproar. 

Genji glanced at him, still struggling in Reinhardt’s iron grip. Jesse was standing, but slowly sat once everyone’s attention was on him. He continued in a carefully measured tone, voice low and soothing-- the voice he had used during Genji’s bad nights in the past. 

“Everyone needs to calm down. Take a seat. Be mindful of our _host_.” 

As one, Genji included, all eyes swept to Winston. The gorilla’s nostrils were flared and his fur stood on end, with pupils so blown that his eyes were nearly black. _Shit_. Genji looked up at Reinhardt and gave him a stiff nod. Reinhardt nodded in return and gently sat Genji on his feet.

Still enraged, it took immense self-control for Genji to quietly slide into his chair instead of violently dragging it out like he wanted to. The rest of the old Overwatch similarly found their chairs, recognizing when their normally peaceful scientist was on the verge of losing control. Reinhardt had to tug Brigitte into a chair as she was too bewildered to do much else. Hanzo sat next to Genji, also confused at the sudden deescalation, but Genji appreciated the gesture of solidarity all the same. When no one was left standing and Winston had returned to his typical, timid countenance, Jesse continued. 

“Torbjörn. This isn’t how we do business. This isn’t how we _ever_ did business. You might be Old Guard, but that don’t give you free pass to insult the rest of the team, _especially_ the way you did. Apologize.”

Torbjörn glowered threateningly, prompting Reinhardt to speak in a rumbling, warning tone. “Live with honor, Torbjörn.”

From under his large beard, the engineer bared his teeth. “I apologize for insinuating that she had to sell her body to buy a job. I don’t apologize for the rest.”

“_Kusokurae_,” Genji hissed. He knew Torbjörn couldn’t understand what he was saying, but the way the other man eyed him warily was gratifying enough.

“Hey, now,” Jesse admonished. “None of that. We’re gonna talk this out like the professional adults we are. Let’s boil it down some. We all agree that we need to plan out our medical emergencies better, right?” No one moved, except for Winston nodding enthusiastically. “Alright. Done.

"Now,” Jesse looked directly at Torbjörn. “As far as Doc’s reputation after the Fall. Every single one of us was at the mercy of the media. I don’t know what I did to earn half the money on my head and the other half I earned just livin’ longer than the bounty hunters. You don’t see me begrudgin’ her for makin’ it out fine, it only means good things for Overwatch movin’ forward.”

"Thank you, Jesse," Angela said. Genji attempted to catch her eye, but she seemed determined to avoid his gaze, a habit of hers when she felt embarrassed. Not that she had a reason to be, in his eyes. _She_ wasn't the one who started the fight.

Torbjörn crossed his arms. “Hmph. _Overwatch_. Is that what we are? I look around this table and I see criminals, old men, and children blinded by the stars in their eyes. What are we doing here? What is the purpose of the Recall?” 

Genji reluctantly took his eyes off Angela to glance at Winston. He was the only one who could answer this question, even though Genji and Jesse knew it as well. They weren’t the leaders. They didn’t initiate the Recall.

“Uh,” Winston blinked. “We’re going to fight the evil in the world.”

Genji rolled his eyes. Really? Talon methodically assassinating agents and the answer Winston went with was a nebulous “evil”?

Torbjörn scoffed. “Is that so? Who gets to decide what’s evil? That’s not a goal. It’s not even a purpose. It’s a suicide note.”

Brigitte laughed, a little more high pitched than usual. Probably, rightfully, worried about her father’s safety amongst so much hostility. “Don’t be dramatic, Papa.”

“But… there’s the Omnic Crisis in Russia.” Winston began shuffling through his papers again, looking for some report or another.

“Wait—what? Omnic Crisis?” Lena looked back and forth between the agents, searching for an explanation.

Genji was equally curious-- Jesse hadn’t said anything about this.

Winston nodded vigorously even as Torbjörn shook his head. “Yes, two omniums have gone rogue from their standard production schedules. Russia has been keeping it quiet, not wanting to draw international ridicule or cause panic within their borders, but they actually deployed specialist units this morning.”

“If there is anything the Omnic Crisis has taught us,” Reinhardt said, “It’s that Russia will take care of Russia. They will not accept our help. If we went without their blessing, we would only be repeating the mistakes of the past.”

“Well, um,” Winston adjusted his glasses. “I suppose that’s probably true, but I think we should be prepared, instead of initiating the Recall after it’s too late—“

“It took the UN four months to form Overwatch during the first Crisis,” Torbjörn said dismissively. “And the world is much better prepared than it was in the past—that’s if this little Siberian _incident _even turns out to be a Crisis.”

Winston fell silent, staring at a spot on the table in front of him. Genji waited for him to gather his confidence. If he knew as little as the other agents, he’d probably agree with Torbjörn, as much as it irked him—with no purpose, the Recall wasn’t much more than a fever dream. Their activities had been _ad hoc_ so far, but that couldn’t sustain a team and everyone in the room knew that. 

Winston blew out a large sigh and looked up, his yellow eyes glowing with resolution. “Agents are dying.”

Torbjörn waved a hand dismissively. “We’re old. It happens.” 

Winston didn’t respond. He rose from his oversized chair and booted up the projector. After a few minutes of clicking, he pulled up a folder filled with agent profiles. Genji inhaled sharply. Even with Jesse’s warning, he hadn’t… quite realized how extensive it was. Seeing the profiles on the screen—there were so _many_ agents—made it seem so real. He sensed Hanzo shooting him a questioning glance, but he only shook his head. He’d talk with him after the meeting. In private. Profiles began cycling on the screen, flickering into existence only briefly before being replaced by another.

“In the seven years since the Fall,” Winston explained resolutely. “Three hundred and forty-three former Overwatch agents have died. They’ve ranged in age from twenty to ninety-two, of all genders, all nationalities, all religions, and all walks of life. This year alone, thirty-nine have died and it’s only July.” 

Genji glanced down the table. Angela stared at the passing faces with wide eyes. Brigitte furrowed her brows thoughtfully while Reinhardt’s grief was clear for all to see.

“What—“ Hanzo cleared his throat and began again. “Who is doing this?”

Jesse answered for Winston. “Talon,” he growled.

The scientist nodded. “Yes. They are a criminal organization whose history extends as far back as the original Overwatch. I haven’t been able to determine a motivation or a method. They seem to be targeting everyone who ever served in Overwatch. These deaths have been everything from suspicious accidents to suicides to mysterious homicides. Even if only half of these were truly untimely deaths, that would be more than twenty deaths a year. Their geographic spread is meticulous. Talon never hits the same region in the same manner to avoid raising suspicion. I’ve been researching these deaths for years now.” Winston locked eyes with a shell-shocked Torbjörn. “I suppose I was searching for a purpose.”

“Aye.” Torbjörn breathed. “Aye, this would do it.”

Hanzo nodded in agreement. “So, what is our course of action?”

Genji clasped his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “We fight.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo knocked on the door to enter Dr. Ziegler’s office for the second time that day, albeit under different circumstances. At least this time he didn't have a black eye.

The door swung wide almost immediately, revealing a cramped, moderately sized room. A large, L-shaped desk took up about a third of the space while large, metal filing cabinets lined the far wall, each column with its own high-grade lock. There were no windows, but even if there had been they wouldn't have been visible as every meter of wallspace that wasn't occupied with cabinets was covered with bookshelves. Most shelves were stuffed with books and medical texts, but there were a few with more personal touches, including several photos of Dr. Zeigler and Genji.

Dr. Ziegler herself sat behind her glass and metal desk and smiled as he entered, Genji waving over her head from where he sat cross-legged on the desk. But it was McCree who had actually answered the door and Hanzo reflexively took a step back.

“You are just in time, Hanzo.” Dr. Ziegler said, looking much cheered since the meeting.

“Just in—” McCree twisted around to look at the doctor. “You invited him? What the hell?”

“All of Overwatch will need to know eventually,” Genji said. “We might as well start with someone without, ah, biases.” 

Hanzo frowned, mind already racing to piece together what they were talking about—or rather, _weren’t _talking about.

McCree turned back. “Just a sec.” 

The door slammed in his face. 

He could hear the muted voices on the other side, but despite his best efforts he could not make out the words. After the… _eventful _meeting that evening, he had confronted Genji to demand a more thorough explanation of Overwatch and Talon’s history, but Genji had cut him off, telling him to be at Dr. Ziegler’s office in fifteen minutes and slipped away before Hanzo could ask any questions. He may not have known exactly why Genji wanted to meet in such an odd location, but it didn’t take any large leap of logic to discern its clandestine nature. Hopefully, Genji would shed light on Winston’s shocking announcement at the meeting: Talon’s systematic assassinations of agents.

Talon. The antithesis of Overwatch, so completely entangled in the shadows, it could only be detected in the peripheral of consciousness, like a nightmare in the light of day. He finally had a name to the organization that fielded Widowmaker. To think that they had been strategically hunting down former Overwatch agents, successfully reaching a kill count in the hundreds without raising any alarms or suspicion.... The kind of power and capital Talon must possess to accomplish such a task marked them a formidable foe. 

From the other side of the door, the voices raised in volume. It was disappointing to discover he still could not understand the words, but it now made sense why Genji chose this office as their meeting space. Privacy was assured.

It is lucky that he didn’t know about Talon a week ago. Genji’s memories of their life together would have eventually overcome his misgivings, he was sure, but it would have been so much more difficult to accept his brother if he had he known for certain that Talon was capable of resurrecting him.

The door swept open again, McCree looking much more irate. “Alright, get in here.” 

Hanzo carefully sidestepped McCree and sat in one of the two armchairs facing Dr. Ziegler’s desk. That McCree had prior knowledge of Talon inspired unease and suspicion, especially since Genji had appeared as surprised as everyone else at the meeting. He would have to watch the outlaw carefully, regardless of the truce.

McCree took the other chair, sinking into it and extending his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. “Genji, exposition, if you’d be so kind.”

Genji nodded briefly. “_Anija_, I have not been entirely forthcoming with you.” 

Hanzo immediately stiffened in his chair, senses jumping into overdrive as he prepared for the coming blow. Was it about Overwatch? About Talon? Had Hanzo been wrong after all about Gen-- 

“To be fair, the three of us have kept this from all of the Overwatch members. After the Omnic Crisis, Overwatch developed a subordinate unit dedicated to covert operations known as Blackwatch.” 

Hanzo’s eyebrows shot up in shock even as relief rushed over him. Genji was still his brother_._

“Blackwatch was—and still is—extremely classified," McCree said. "None of Overwatch past or present knows about Blackwatch unless they were a part of it themselves. Blackwatch were the ones who rescued Genji--"

"Rescued, rebuilt, and retrained me," Genji said wryly. "Although I only stayed with Blackwatch a few years before I transferred into Overwatch permanently." 

Jesse nodded. "I was in Blackwatch the longest out of anyone, 'cept Reyes. Doc was a doc for Blackwatch, obviously.”

Dr. Ziegler smiled tightly. “I served both organizations simultaneously. Blackwatch was too small to have a completely dedicated medical team, but outside of major surgical operations I was rarely needed. I only know of one doctor who was permanently assigned to Blackwatch.”

Hanzo curled his hands in his lap uneasily. “This explains many things, but why are you telling me?”

“Patience, _anija_.” 

Hanzo snorted in strained amusement. How many times had he said that to Genji, instead of the other way around?

“Blackwatch has a history almost as long as Overwatch itself," Dr. Zeigler continued. "And the two were inextricably bound. It was a rift between their respective commanders that ultimately brought them both to their knees, although no one seems to know the full story of how that happened. But… I suppose that isn't important. What matters today is Blackwatch’s history with Talon.” 

With Talon? Was Genji’s surprise at the briefing feigned? It was good that Genji felt comfortable enough in present company to remove his mask, Hanzo could see at a glance that he was unmoved by Dr. Zeigler's statement. So if Genji had known about Talon already, then perhaps... McCree was not suspect after all. Hanzo experienced a flash of guilt for so readily suspecting his brother’s best friend.

“Blackwatch was formed specifically to counter threats that Overwatch could not be seen interacting with," McCree said. "Talon was at the top of the list. We had an entire intelligence team dedicated to tracking their activities and predicting their next move. Most of the time, it was a stalemate. Neither organization could outmaneuver the other. That changed when Talon kidnapped the wife of our lead analyst." To Hanzo's surprise, McCree's lips curled into a fierce scowl.

"Gerard Lacroix was a French national," Genji quickly said, shooting concerned glances at McCree. "His wife was a reasonably successful ballet dancer, also French. Her kidnapping was a clear message to Blackwatch: not even our families were safe. Despite our best efforts, we could not track her down. Even though we knew Talon to be responsible, we had no way to discover where they had taken her. Three weeks later, she reappears in her Parisian apartment. No injuries, no explanation, just a shaken Amélie with no memory of her time with Talon."

Dr. Zeigler sighed, face full of regret. “We should have taken it as a sign, as a warning. I should have pressed harder to keep her under observation. Lacroix wouldn't hear of it. He was so happy to have his wife back. By the end of the week, Amélie had disappeared again and Lacroix was discovered murdered in his own bed.”

McCree had been silent and watchful to this point, but now he spoke with disgust in his voice. “Next we heard of poor, widowed Amélie, she was assassinatin’ prominent political figures in Southeast Asia.” 

Hanzo felt his eye twitch as he made the connection. He was there for those assassinations. So was Widowmaker. 

“Then she was assassinatin’ us.” Hanzo didn’t miss the shadow that passed over McCree’s face, but it didn’t linger long enough for him to interpret.

Dr. Ziegler spoke next, seemingly eager to move on. “As former members of Blackwatch, we are privy to quite a bit of information, more than Winston and certainly more than the old Overwatch. While I’m sure he might know more about their recent activities, he doesn’t know that Talon has been hunting agents since the beginning. After Amélie, the death toll kept growing higher and higher. Blackwatch couldn’t keep its ranks filled.”

“We lost a lot of folks.” McCree sighed. “Not all of them good, not a one of them bad.”

Dr. Ziegler gave McCree a sympathetic half-smile before continuing. “Nobody in Blackwatch knew all of the other members. It was designed to be a very compartmentalized effort. The Blackwatch Commander had a full roster, of course, and perhaps the Strike Commander of Overwatch did as well, but...” Dr. Ziegler’s eyes darted to McCree again. 

So many strange reactions tonight. He mentally filed it away for later analysis. 

“Both died in the Fall," McCree said bluntly. 

Dr. Zeigler nodded. "Right. There’s no way to tell how many agents are still alive. We’ve drafted a list based on all the agents we knew and… most of them are dead. Those who aren’t deceased are either in prison or missing entirely.”

“Not that I do not appreciate that you have brought me into your confidence,” Hanzo said, unable to bear the growing concern silently. “But this all sounds like critical information. I understand that this is all still classified, but this current Overwatch is hardly legal. Why not share this with all the agents? Especially Winston, if he is to be planning future operations.”

The trio cast each other side-long glances and it was Genji who ultimately answered. “It is not classification that keeps us from speaking. It is risk. The Old Guard—Torbjörn and Reinhardt—would likely leave Overwatch on the spot.”

Well that did not sound like reason enough. Especially given their behavior at the meeting, Hanzo would have thought the prospect of Mr Lindholm's retirement as a positive side effect.

McCree hummed. “The original Overwatch—and I mean Crisis era, not just pre-Recall—had a lot of bad blood between them by the end of things. I won’t go into all the family drama ‘cause we already told you the gist of it. Two of our most experienced and well-connected members _will _leave if they find out we were directly associated with Overwatch’s shadow. Brigitte goes where Reinhardt goes, so you can count her out as well. That only leaves Winston and Tracer, present company excluded. Fightin’ Talon is impossible with nine people. If we tried to fight ‘em with only six?” McCree shook his head. “We’d all be dead men walkin’.”

Well. He supposed that did sufficiently explain their reluctance.

Dr. Ziegler cleared her throat. “We _are _going to inform Winston. Well, I will. I won’t mention that Genji and Jesse were active members of Blackwatch. My cover story is fairly close to the truth: I was an Overwatch doctor who was sometimes conscripted to treat Blackwatch operatives; Due to the nature of my work, I overheard more than I should have.” Her nose crinkled in distaste. “I am already considered suspect by certain individuals, so it will not be considered unexpected.” 

Hanzo tried not to remember his own accusations against Dr. Ziegler. 

“We’ll be passing information that the three of us have to Winston this way," Genji said. "And… we were hoping you might help.”

“Me?” Hanzo pointed at his nose. They nodded and he frowned again. “How can I assist?”

“_Anija_, you ran the Shimada Syndicate for years before you left it. Talon would have been in its infancy then, so we could pass info off as things you learned while you were still involved in the criminal underground.”

Hanzo allowed a small smile as he finally understood. “I could do better than that.”

Genji tilted his head curiously and even McCree looked at him with interest. 

He steeples his hands, feeling immensely pleased with himself. “I would only be able to talk about the _beginnings_ of Talon if that is the story you choose. However, I have personally encountered Talon agents. My time as a contractor--”

McCree interrupted with a laugh. “Shoot, is contactor what we’re callin’ guns-for-hire now a days?”

Hanzo stiffened. “I did more than kill.”

“Yeah? Like what?” The cowboy leaned into Hanzo’s space, clearly amused by his irritation.

Genji was quick to intervene. “We are getting off track. When did you encounter Talon, _anija_?”

“The Southeast Asia political assassinations McCree mentioned earlier were carried out by two snipers. I was one. Widowmaker was the other.”

At the mention of the Talon sniper, McCree’s humor evaporated. Hanzo had seen him angry. He had seen vicious hatred and heated violence from the man. This was different. This was worse. There was absolutely no outward emotion on his face and his eyes were empty, almost glazed. Hanzo only ever saw those eyes in the faces of dead men. 

“You worked with Widowmaker.” 

Hamzo couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a question. The sentence was void of inflection.

“No," he clarified. "We worked opposing contracts. At least, _I_ worked a contract. At the time I assumed she did as well, but I eventually learned of her association with the shadow organization that I now know to be Talon. That is why I mention her. My time as a contractor is how I can provide more recent information on them.” 

McCree’s eyes slowly regained their usual shine, leaving no trace that the deadened stare ever existed. He nodded and said nothing further, leaving Hanzo thoroughly unnerved.

“That is actually very helpful,” Dr. Ziegler tapped a stylus against her lips. “We were having trouble deciding how I could feed everything we know without casting undue suspicion on myself and this solves it.”

“I will do my best.” Hanzo paused, considering. “But tell me, if you believe nine too few to combat Talon, then how are we to proceed? Are we only informing Winston so that he will not pursue a path of warfare?”

“We need to recruit,” Genji agreed. “Master Zenyatta has accepted my invitation to Overwatch. He will be arriving next week. However, we have no additional points of contact. I spent most of the years after the Fall in isolation."

"And I may know many doctors," Dr. Zeigler said. "But the majority are unsuited for combat.”

“And McCree?”

The outlaw snorted. “Most of the folks I knew are dead and the rest are criminals. You can trust them to be untrustworthy, but that’s about it.”

“I am sure that’s not true, Jesse.” Dr. Ziegler protested. “What about Fareeha?”

McCree glared at her. “No.”

She crossed her arms. “What do you mean, ‘no’? I happen to know for a fact that she’s had a very successful career in the Egyptian armed forces as an officer. Her combat experience and leadership skills would be invaluable to our efforts.”

“The last thing her mama ever wanted for her was to fight all her life. I can’t tell her how to live, but I’m not gonna be the one to invite her to the same damn war that killed Amari." McCree pointed a finger at her. "I’m not callin’ her and don’t you do it, either.”

Dr. Ziegler leaned over her desk, eyes intense. “We don’t have the luxury of—“

“Angela, perhaps now is not the time?” Genji interrupted gently. She pursed her lips but did not press the issue. “Would you consider it in the future, Jesse?”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Genji dipped his head respectfully. “Fair enough. _Anija_, do you know of anyone that can help?”

Hanzo ran over a list of names in his head. “Not that we can afford. I made business contacts, not friends.”

“I see. It seems that we shall have to table this topic for another time, as none of us have potential candidates. We will bring the issue up to Winston by way of Angela.”

“Won’t do you much good.” Jesse groused. “He’s aware of the agent shortage. Asked me to drum up some new folks, but y’all already know how that story ends.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Must you always speak in idioms?”

“Must you always have a stick up your ass?”

Hanzo Drew himself up, incensed.

Ever the pacifist, Dr. Ziegler loudly spoke over their banter. “I see that the long day is wearing on everyone’s nerves. It’s high time we all get some well-earned rest. I am sure that everyone will want to settle in to a regular sleeping schedule before the training begins.”

Genji’s head whipped to face her. “Training? What training?”

“Oh?” She blinked innocently. Hanzo narrowed his eyes. _Much_ too innocently. “Did Winston forget to mention it at the meeting? I suppose he got distracted, what with all the fighting and the dying agents—“

“Doc, stop drawin’ it out.”

“—and the _baseless _accusations.” She huffed. “Winston is setting up a comprehensive training cycle to prepare us for future missions.”

“What d’you mean, ‘comprehensive’?”

It was low-hanging fruit. Hanzo knew it. It did not dissuade him. “Comprehensive is an adjective that means complete or all-inclusive.”

The look McCree shot him was venomous and immensely satisfying. “I know what it means, asshole.”

Dr. Ziegler abandoned her teasing, likely attempting to circumvent another argument. “Winston has asked Reinhardt to develop and lead a physical training regimen.”

“Oh god, _Reinhardt_?”

Hanzo frowned at Genji's reaction. Lazy he might have been as a child, Genji always enjoyed the physical parts of training. For him to react so strongly….

“He’s also pulled an archived live fire team exercise program to train teamwork in a combat environment.”

Genji perked up at this. “Oh, that should be fun!”

McCree balked. “Fun for you, mister I-can-literally-deflect-bullets-with-my-ninja-sword.”

“It is a _katana_.”

“It’s a glorified knife!”

Genji grinned. “Just as Peacekeeper is a museum artifact, I am sure.” 

McCree had nothing to say to that, laughing good-naturedly.

He might still be annoyed with McCree's behavior, but Hanzo couldn't help but feel relieved to see him and Genji enjoying their company in his presence. It made him feel much less… isolated. He refused to smile over it, however.

“…But seriously, Reinhardt?”


	10. Recollections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: minor body horror

A knock at his door shifted Hanzo’s attention away from inventorying his equipment. Curious, he paused in counting his shatter arrows to open the door. Genji stood on the other side, a teapot and two cups in his hands.

⟪Good morning, Brother! I was wondering if you would like to join me for tea?⟫

⟪It is after noon.⟫ He squinted at the tea set. Genji _never _made tea. Suspicion colored his voice. ⟪What do you want?⟫

⟪I want you to be a little more trusting of your darling younger brother. What is the harm in joining me for tea?⟫

⟪The last time you made tea, you put frog spawn in the pot.⟫

⟪In my defense, I was six and it was hilarious.⟫

⟪No, when you were six you used coffee grounds. The frog spawn was from when you were six_teen_. I was sick for a week.⟫

⟪Ah! I had forgotten.⟫ Hanzo’s eye twitched at Genji’s obvious nostalgia. ⟪The look on your face when I took off the lid—⟫ Genji cut himself off, no doubt motivated by self-preservation and Hanzo’s unimpressed expression. ⟪Right. I… just wanted to talk. I thought the tea might put you in a good mood. Especially since the last time we spoke…⟫

Hanzo winced. He had nearly forgotten about their last one-on-one conversation over the phone nearly a week ago, having been caught up in the revelations of Talon and Blackwatch. They were still together often, planning and plotting the future of Overwatch, but it was always painfully polite. He should have apologized much sooner. 

⟪Genji, I am not upset with you. I was wrong for accusing Dr. Ziegler. You were right to reprimand me.⟫

Genji shook his head. ⟪I should not have been so thoughtless in the way I did it. I never meant to imply that I hold our past against you.⟫

⟪Well. It is called the past because it is behind us.⟫

Genji nodded vigorously. Hanzo wasn’t sure if he was meant to interpret that as simple acceptance or relief to be away from the topic.

⟪So,⟫ Genji said, ⟪can I trouble you for conversation?⟫

Hanzo’s mind trailed to his long list of chores to be done that day. ⟪I am actually in the middle of doing inventory, and I have yet to do laundry.⟫

⟪Oh.⟫ His brother seemed to physically deflate, slumping his shoulders and hanging his head. ⟪Okay. Sorry to bother you.⟫

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. He was too old for this. 

⟪Set the tea on the desk. We can talk while I finish.⟫

⟪Excellent!⟫

Hanzo blinked, feeling flat-footed in the face of Genji’s mercurial emotions. His brother slipped past him into the room, tossing the tea set to the side and ignoring its fragile rattling.

Hanzo shook his head in wonder and perhaps a little fondness as he returned to his pile of arrows. ⟪What did you wish to talk about?⟫

⟪Master Zenyatta is arriving today.⟫

Hanzo glanced up, observing the suddenly tense lines of Genji’s body. ⟪Your teacher from Nepal?⟫

⟪Well, ah, yes. Sort of.⟫

Hanzo politely turned his attention to his bowstrings, waiting for Genji to crumble under his own pressure. 

⟪We—I mean you and me, not Master Zenyatta--haven’t talked much about… well, anything. I feel as though there is still so much that we don’t know about each other. That we might be keeping important details from each other. Ah, unintentionally!⟫

This was an interesting direction for conversation. Not wishing to derail Genji’s line of thought, he decided to remain neutral in tone. 

⟪Yes. Trying to recount fifteen years in the space of a month is quite the challenge.⟫

⟪I…⟫ Genji tilted his head. ⟪How do you always make things sound so reasonable?⟫

⟪Even the sea seems steady compared to the wind.⟫

⟪Huh. Wait, am I the wind?⟫

Hanzo did not succeed in hiding his smirk. 

⟪Brother,⟫ Genji whined.

⟪Peace, Genji, we both know I have called you worse.⟫

⟪True.⟫ The sounds of rustling drew Hanzo’s attention back to his brother again. Genji was fidgeting with one of the few hard-copy books Hanzo owned. ⟪There are some details that I failed to mention about Master Zenyatta.⟫

⟪That is to be expected.⟫ Hanzo put the bowstrings away and picked up a bundle of arrows. ⟪As you said, we have had little opportunity to speak to each other. I know that your Master Zenyatta has been a great influence on you and you regard him highly. I know you studied under him in Nepal. I do not know what religious school he is a part of, although I do confess that I assumed him to be Buddhist.⟫

Genji’s next words rushed out, each syllable tumbling out over the last in his haste. ⟪He is a Shambali monk.⟫

Hanzo froze. Carefully, intentionally, slowly, he turned to face his brother. ⟪Shambali.⟫ 

Genji nodded jerkily. 

⟪He is omnic, then?⟫

⟪Yes.⟫

Hanzo thought over his words. ⟪I had not been under the impression that Overwatch was… pro-omnic.⟫

⟪In the past it was not.⟫ There was a noisy, staticy sound that Hanzo belatedly realized was a sigh. ⟪I did not wish to bring up the incident, but I feel I have no choice if I want you to understand my journey.⟫ 

Genji removed his mask.

Ah. This would not be an easy conversation, then. Hanzo sat on his bed, mentally bracing himself. 

⟪As you know, our fight left me critically injured, almost mortally so.⟫

Hanzo swallowed and carefully did not remember the large bloodstains in the tatami mats of the meeting hall.

Genji waved the book he was holding distractedly. ⟪Were Blackwatch not monitoring the Shimada-gumi at the time and intervened before the clan could finish me off, I certainly would have died. Even for the first few weeks after my rescue, it was not clear if I would survive.

⟪Angela worked tirelessly to save my life, which I am immensely grateful for now, but in the moment... I cursed her. In the pursuit of preserving my life, they eliminated anything that decreased my chances of survival.⟫ Genji stood and drew his left hand along his right, still holding the book. ⟪All of this is prosthetic.⟫

Hanzo paled. 

⟪My entire right arm, my right shoulder, my right lung, and all but the lowest two ribs.⟫ Genji tapped his hip. ⟪My right leg actually survived our confrontation, but they ended up amputating it when it was clear they could not save my left leg.

⟪You see, even as the doctors were fighting to save my life, Blackwatch was planning on how to mold me into the perfect living weapon. They reasoned that I would be more balanced and powerful if both my legs were cybernetic rather only one.⟫

⟪Dr. Zeigler allowed this?⟫ Hanzo asked, aghast.

⟪Of course not. She fought them fiercely, saying it was contrary to the Hippocratic Oath and her own morals. But it was Blackwatch money that kept me on a ventilator.⟫ Genji shrugged. ⟪Perhaps if she was post-residency she would have held more influence. As it happened, the choice between saving my body or saving my life seemed obvious to her.⟫

Hanzo rubbed a hand over his face. That must have been an agonizing choice for Dr. Zeigler, especially while she was what basically amounted to an intern. What a cruel way to disillusion her to the medical field. And Genji….

⟪This body is primarily a polycarbonate synthetic, formulated specifically to mimic the functions of human muscles. I still eat, but I have a much lower caloric demand to match my much lower body density. If I wanted, I could survive on one protein bar a day, not taking nutrition into account. On the plus side, it is a much cheaper way to live!⟫ The joke fell flat. Genji cleared his throat awkwardly. ⟪I lost my ability to regulate my internal temperature. My vocal cords were badly damaged and scarred, so they augmented them.⟫

Hanzo put his face in his hands, struggling to internalize his guilt. Genji said it all so casually, so clinically detached and _he was the one who did that to him_.

⟪After I regained consciousness is when the real battle for my life began. My body—what little there was left of it—was stable, but now all the stress was mental. I blacked out ready for death and woke up in what I thought was hell. I couldn’t find the line where the wires ended and my veins began. With the way we were raised…⟫

Hanzo flinched. Of course. The importance of their bloodline was never understated. It had been one of Hanzo's greatest burdens to bear, knowing that he'd be required to marry and have children in order to carry on the clan's traditions. How ironic that's what ultimately caused its downfall.

⟪It was traumatic,⟫ Genji finished. ⟪Where was my humanity when I had to worry about mechanical fluid in my joints? Was I even human anymore? Had I become the senseless evil our father had warned us about? I likened myself to Izanami-no-mikoto, who died and became one of the evil things in Yomi. The parallels in the story only grew stronger when Blackwatch offered me a chance at revenge in exchange for my service. I accepted without hesitation. I became the undead wrath of a divine being and the Shimada-gumi was Izanagi-no-mikoto. Thanks to our training, I was already a deadly force. With my new body and enhanced abilities… I was an oni with an iron club.⟫

Sudden understanding struck Hanzo as a lightning bolt would, standing his hair on end and numbing his fingers. ⟪You were the demon. You were the one who was taking out my businesses. Before I left the Shimada-gumi.⟫

Genji nodded. ⟪I destroyed everything I could get my hands on. That is when I met Jesse. He wasn’t originally assigned as my partner, but it quickly became clear to the Blackwatch commander that I was losing control. Jesse helped me focus my anger against the Shimada-gumi. It may not have been a healthy way of coping with the situation, but it was the healthiest of what I was willing to consider. We _shredded _the Shimada-gumi. It took us three years to do it, but by the end you were the only piece left.⟫

Hanzo closed his eyes, remembering his fear and confusion as his empire crumbled. ⟪When the syndicate began fracturing around me so soon after your death… I thought it the will of the gods, as retribution for my transgression against you. I left hoping that I could draw that divine wrath away. Of course, it failed, but the distance from the machinations of the Shimada elders afforded me new perspective. No duties. No responsibilities but my own person. It gave me time to think. Too much time. I allowed myself to reflect on the bitter days. On you. On Koharu.⟫ His voice nearly broke, but he pressed on, steadily avoiding Genji’s gaze. ⟪I thought about what you said to me the night I…⟫ And now his voice did fail him. 

Genji went to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. 

⟪You were right,⟫ Hanzo said. ⟪The elders manipulated us. Manipulated _me_. I could not return.⟫

⟪It is good that you did not, for I have no doubt that I would have killed you if I found you during my Blackwatch days.⟫

⟪It is no less than I would have deserved.⟫

The sound of creaking leather drew Hanzo’s eyes to the book in Genji’s hand—the cover bending distressingly. 

⟪I disagree,⟫ Genji said firmly. ⟪Our situation would not have become as violent as it did if I had not cast the first stone. I am afraid we are getting off track.⟫ His death grip on the book eased. ⟪After we dismantled the Shimada-gumi, my purpose in life disappeared. I had nothing to hold on to or live for. Jesse never left me alone for fear of what I would do.⟫

Memories of his fight with McCree flashed before his eyes, the outlaw’s words searing through his skull:_ I helped him through the days where he hated himself so much that he wanted to jump off _those _cliffs_\-- 

⟪Angela was tied up with her medical training and practice, but she knew I was in trouble. She was the one who suggested I transfer to Overwatch. She thought that I would be able to find my balance there, working for a completely legal organization dedicated to making the world a better place.⟫ Genji’s face went through a complicated series of emotions that Hanzo had no hope of understanding. ⟪It… sort of helped. Assisting with missions that provided disaster relief for typhoons and earthquakes helped me think larger than myself, but I was still torn about who I was. It was during one of these missions that we worked alongside a contingent of Shambali monks. To be honest, I did not think much of them at the time, although their presence surprised me. It was not an omnic-friendly area. I did not seriously consider them until the Fall.

⟪You must understand, Brother, that throughout my time with Blackwatch and Overwatch, I was constantly mistaken as an omnic. In the early days, I fought quite a few people for even insinuating it. I still had those issues after Fall, except then I did not have the support network that I once had. Jesse had disappeared more than a year before and Angela, try as she might, could not support my emotional needs on top of her own after Zurich. She should not have needed to, and that is what inspired me to seek out the Shambali. Without them…I do not wish to think of what may have happened.⟫

Hanzo stared in shock, momentarily without words as he internalized his brother’s story. He cleared his throat. ⟪I am _intensely _glad that you found what you needed from the Shambali. It pleases me that you could obtain such… usefulness from them.⟫

⟪It is the reason I bring all of this up, _anija_. Master Zenyatta arrives today. I will not pretend that I believe I can erase a lifetime of prejudice from your heart—⟫

Hanzo balked. ⟪I am not--!⟫

⟪—or change your mind about omnics in general. Likewise, I will not entertain any notion or hint of disrespect against him. Any slight against Master Zenyatta is a slight against me.⟫

Hanzo opened his mouth to protest the idea that his brother’s honor was tied to another’s, but Genji interrupted. 

⟪As far as I am concerned, he could be the Emperor himself and I would not be capable of holding him in a higher regard because he already commands the highest amount of respect from me. I ask that you treat him accordingly.⟫

Hanzo clicked his mouth shut. There really wasn’t an option. Risking Genji’s animosity over the principle of honor would be ridiculous, especially having come so far to earn his brother’s trust. He would simply have to show Genji that he had no prejudices against omnics... and save guiding Genji back to the proper path for later. 

Measuring every syllable, he chose his next words carefully. ⟪I would never insult those who had a hand in your recovery.⟫

⟪Good,⟫ Genji nodded, relieved. ⟪That is good.⟫

An awkward silence settled over them; Genji seemed to have expected more of a fight. Genji continued fidgeting with the book, eventually looking down at its title. Genji stilled. ⟪This is _Kojiki_?⟫

So he finally noticed. ⟪It is. I have _Nihon Shoki_ as well.⟫

⟪Are they…⟫ Genji opened the book to a random page, flipping through a few chapters. ⟪They are, aren’t they? Father’s?⟫

⟪Yes.⟫

⟪He always wrote so many notes in his books.⟫ Genji paused, trying to decipher the cramped handwriting. ⟪Heh. I wonder what he would say if he saw us now.⟫ If the bitter tone was any indication, Hanzo guessed that he already had an idea of what their father’s reaction would be.

He hummed contemplatively. ⟪It is hard to say who he’d be more disappointed in.⟫

Genji gently placed the book on the shelf he had removed it from. ⟪Would you like to come with me to the airport? Master Zenyatta’s flight arrives in a few hours.⟫

⟪I…⟫

Hanzo was not particularly inclined to venture into the public eye today, especially not after such an… intense conversation. He looked to Genji. That was a tactical error. He had never mastered the ability to withstand Genji’s puppy-dog eyes. Glancing at his laundry, he resigned to do his chores the next day. He should have known the moment Genji walked through the door that there was no hope of productivity. 

⟪Alright. When are you leaving?⟫

⟪In an hour! Well, hour and a half.⟫ In a stroke of uncharacteristic thoughtfulness, ⟪I can come get you before I leave, so you may do your chores until it is time to go.⟫

⟪I would appreciate that.⟫

⟪Excellent!⟫ Genji cheered, already halfway out the door. ⟪I can’t wait! See you later, Brother.⟫

He shut the door more forcefully than necessary, causing the tea set to rattle on Hanzo’s desk. Hanzo shook his head and grabbed the basket of laundry.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Gibraltar International Airport was modestly sized. Located on the northern tip of Gibraltar with the Rock soaring above it to the south, the airport’s claim to exceptionality was a road that sliced across its runways. Winston Churchill Avenue was the busiest road on the tiny peninsula, as it was the main road leading to the land border with Spain, but that did not deter past city planners from using every inch of available space. 

Any time a plane began to taxi on the runway or circled the island with the gulls in a holding pattern, flimsy plastic barriers descended on the Avenue, congesting the traffic for blocks until the runway was clear again. What had the potential to be a critical failing of urban planning amounted to little more than a charming inconvenience for the coastal town. Gibraltar International didn’t handle many flights, barely five thousand a year, and today it would only have three. The second of these bore Tekhartha Zenyatta.

The omnic had not even landed and he already unsettled Hanzo. The name Tekhartha alone—an honorary title for the followers of Shambali—was distasteful. A hybridization of the Awakened One’s name, it merged “Siddhartha” with “tech”, allegedly symbolizing the merging of the original Buddhist philosophy with omnic sensibilities, between Nirvana and the Iris. Hanzo could empathize with their struggle, thrust into a world without ancestry or culture as they were. One day there were seven and a half billion people and the next there were an additional billion minds, but ones without parents or siblings or friends or communities to support them. Finding refuge with Buddhist schools seemed obvious on the surface, as it was one of the few religions that accepted omnics as equal to humans, but the ethics of creating omnics was still hotly debated within the schools. It was the primary reason that omnics split from established sects to form the Shambali and it was the primary reason Hanzo kept his distance from omnic issues.

Beside him, Genji rocked on his heels. “The plane is taxiing in,” he muttered distantly. 

Hanzo studied him from where he stood, slightly behind his brother. Just as when he brought tea earlier that day, Genji was tense, but unnoticeable to those who did not look. His shoulders were thrown back, his spine ramrod straight, his feet shoulder width apart as if bracing against a blow. Hanzo’s heart sank. Genji truly was worried about how he would react to Zenyatta, wasn’t he? Not that Hanzo had given him much reason to hold him in high faith, but Genji’s distress was yet another reminder of how far he was from building their relationship to what it once was. 

Hesitantly opening his mouth to say something, anything really, to reassure Genji, Hanzo swallowed his words when his younger brother burst out: “There he is!” 

Genji bounded closer to the doors, peering around a much taller woman in front of him. Hanzo followed suit, curious despite himself.

Gibraltar International was so small that there were no terminals proper. To board, travelers would cross the tarmac itself to climb an air stair into their plane. Similarly, for disembarking, the passengers descend the air stair with their carry-ons in hand. The large glass windows built into the walls made it especially easy to watch their short trek across the runway. There were several omnics in the group and Hanzo wondered for a moment which one had claimed Genji’s loyalty. Then, as a candle peers through the darkness, blazing orange fabric peered through the dark suits of the crowd.

From this distance, he could not discern many details, but it was clear that Zenyatta took no pains to disguise his robotic features. His body was without a carapace or armor, only the bare pistons and mechanics necessary for movement. His brightly colored garb and simple sandals were the only pieces of clothing the omnic deigned to wear, reminiscent of Thai Buddhist monks. 

Zenyatta was halfway across the tarmac now, and Hanzo could see six brass orbs hovering closely to the omnics neck, arranged as a necklace. Hanzo blinked disconcertedly at the casual display of self-propulsion technology, but shoved down his unease. _For Genji_, he reminded himself fiercely. 

He was inside the airport now, walking towards them, _clicking _with every step, lifting a hand in greeting, speaking in a frustratingly serene tone, “Peace be upon you, Genji and Hanzo.”

Genji dipped in an embarrassingly low bow, clasping his hands before his chest. “Master Zenyatta, I am pleased to see you have made it safely.” 

The omnic nodded, his permanently vacant expression betraying nothing, and his brother returned to his full height. Genji’s head twitched to the side, and Hanzo realized that his brother expected him to deliver a similar greeting.

Bending his stubbornly stiff spine was more difficult than he cared to admit. _For Genji,_ he chanted mentally. Even so, he couldn’t bow half as deep or as long as his brother. 

“It is an honor to meet you, Zenyatta-_san_.”

“Oh, please, Zenyatta is fine.”

He felt so off balance. Why would Zenyatta reject his respect? Hanzo did his best to disguise his confusion by keeping his words clipped. “Of course.”

Genji looked between his brother and his mentor. The motion alone wasn’t expressive enough to inform Hanzo whether he was hopeful, anxious, or otherwise. “Is that all you packed, Master?” He gestured at the simple satchel slung across the omnic’s shoulders. “Or should we wait for the checked bags?”

Zenyatta faced Genji, the nine blue dots that served as optical receptors glowing softly. “No, this is all I have. Thank you, Genji.”

“Then let us proceed to the car. No sense in delaying our return to the Wa—to home.” 

Hanzo restrained a sigh at Genji’s near indiscretion. He covertly darted his eyes at the people closest to them, ensuring no one paid any heed to his brother’s slip. How Genji survived two painfully secret organizations and joined a third with his level of carelessness was truly a mystery.

The small group garnered a few curious glances on their brief walk to the car. Hanzo had dressed in a simple black suit to pose as a businessman while Genji carried a sign with Zenyatta’s name scribbled across it. They were innocuous enough while waiting for the omnic’s arrival, easily blending in with the crowd, but the incongruency of a sharply dressed Japanese businessman and a Shambali monk was… noticeable. Thankfully, the curious gazes didn’t linger long, sliding over the odd trio before returning to phones or other people. Nonetheless, it wasn’t until he was sitting in the passenger seat of the car that Hanzo could breathe easy. Genji had yet to allow a moment of silence to linger.

“The Watchpoint is built into the Rock of Gibraltar; You can actually see a little bit of the base from here. See that cave-looking indent towards the top? That’s the urban simulation range. The ledges hide the rest of the base very well and most of the buildings use the natural rock as walls and ceilings. Except for the communication tower, of course, because that would cause problems for the signals…” 

And on and on. 

Zenyatta was quiet, humming with curiosity or interjecting _oh_s of interest, but not initiating conversation on his own. At least, not until Genji let a pause last a beat too long as he navigated through the airport’s parking lot.

“I know we haven’t spoken before, Hanzo, but I am truly overjoyed to meet you. Genji often spoke of you while he studied with me.”

The air rushed out of his lungs. Of course. Genji would have told Zenyatta everything. He went to the Shambali to mend. A doctor cannot heal wounds he cannot see. 

“Is that so?” He managed to strangle out.

“Yes. He would often tell stories that exemplified your self-sacrifice and love for Genji.” 

Hanzo twisted around in his seat to stare incredulously at the omnic. Was the monk _toying _with him? Those nine blue dots didn’t even flicker. 

“I remember one, where he described how he had spirited away from his own home to explore the city. He spent the entire night visiting clubs and arcades and bars. When he finally returned to home it was morning and he was quite inebriated.” 

Hanzo furrowed his brows. This could be the beginning of any number of stories. Genji’s legendary and unsanctioned forays into Hanamura were not a rare occurrence. 

“However,” Zenyatta continued. “Upon his return, he experienced the misfortune of stumbling into the family _butsudan_.”

“He nearly knocked it over,” Hanzo muttered, the memory slamming into his mind unexpectedly. “Mother’s photo fell from its place and shattered.”

Zenyatta nodded. “You were the first to investigate the noise. The shrine was in shambles and your brother was sprawled in the center of destruction. You could have informed your father. You didn’t.”

“No,” he agreed. “I took him back to his room. Cleaned him up. Accepted the blame and punishment from father.”

“I always found it curious that one Genji was quick to describe as hard-hearted and angry could be so compassionate.”

Hanzo huffed. “Compassionate? I was his keeper. Any shame on him was shame on me also. What you call compassion, I call duty.”

“And yet you need not have taken the blame for the shrine.”

They stared at each other. Hanzo, eyes hard and probing; Zenyatta, blue lights soft yet unyielding. Hanzo broke away first, turning forward in his seat. Outside the window, buildings and cars glided past. Sunshine occasionally peaked through the partly clouded sky, bathing trees in bright light. Seagulls cried harshly at each other. 

After an interminably long suspense, Genji began speaking again, of anything and nothing. Hanzo did not rejoin the conversation, the unshakable feelings of unease and unbalance weighing on his shoulders.


	11. Rebuilding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Weight issues/ recovery

Jesse stumbled down the hall, partially leaning on a wall for support. He gritted his teeth as he slowly dragged his uncooperative body through the Watchpoint, each step sending a new wave of agony through his muscles. The door to his room was only fifty paces away now. He paused, desperately gasping for air and wondered how the rest of the team was faring. Probably not much better than he was. 

_Damn Reinhardt,_ he mentally groaned as he pulled himself away from the wall for the final stretch._ Damn leg day!_

Thirteen days into the new training schedule and all the agents were hurting. Not even Doc could escape Reinhardt’s exuberant exercises; she did squats and muscle ups right next to Winston and Torbjörn. Genji and Hanzo seemed to be adjusting the best, already accustomed to rigorous training regimes. It’s not like Jesse was a stranger to tough workouts, but the year leading up to the Recall had been… thin. Work was difficult to find with a bounty on his head, especially work that paid cash and didn’t ask too many questions. 

In his top form back with Blackwatch he regularly weighed in at 190 pounds, but when he arrived at the Watchpoint, he barely made it to 140. Putting weight back on in the right way was much more difficult than he expected it to be, mostly due to a lack of money. Winston’s promised funding wouldn’t be coming through for at least another week, so Jesse was still carefully rationing what little cash he had left to buy foods rich in calories and nutrition. Protein was the most difficult to buy cheaply, though, especially in a territory that had to import most meats and dairy. 

Thankfully, his struggle had not gone unnoticed.

Finally opening his door, he breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of a large bowl of curry rice. Bless his _soul_. He touched his flesh hand to the ceramic, ecstatic to find that it was still warm. How Genji managed to leave training, prepare a bowl of food, and place it in his room all before he could even make it to the door was beyond him. Genji had yet to mention it, probably trying not to offend him by drawing attention to his weight issue. It was oddly thoughtful of him, although Jesse suspected it was just as likely to be careless kindness as mindful consideration. Either way, his thanks were long overdue. Even if the curry was a little light on spice.

He ate his food first, not willing to risk it cooling while he showered. It didn’t take him long to inhale the entire contents of the bowl, burping heartily as he stepped into the en suite bathroom. His shower was quick—fixing the water heaters was low on Torbjörn’s list of maintenance priorities—and soon he was standing in front of the sink mirror. 

His ribs were still clearly visible, but not nearly as bad as even just last week. His arms and legs were still thin and wiry with the little muscle he’d been able to maintain with minimal calories, but he thought he might be a little broader in the shoulders. The improvement made him grin. He’d _love _to actually fit in his clothes again, instead of having them hang on his bony frame and tightening his belt four holes deeper than usual. Hell, at this rate he could be fully recovered in the next month! Still grinning to himself, he stepped on the scale. 144.

Well. Maybe a few months. 

Keeping in mind that their first team-building training was that day, he dressed in well-worn jeans and a simple black crew-neck shirt. It wasn’t exactly a flattering ensemble, too big as they were, but they’d provide ample range of motion for whatever training simulation they’d run today and he wouldn’t mind if they ended up ruined. He fondly remembered the many drills Reyes had invented—everything from hostage rescues to urban clearing operations. 

Nothing ever quite compared to the sense of camaraderie and seamless teamwork he experienced under Reyes’ command. The man went above and beyond for his soldiers. Jesse was living proof of that. Without the Blackwatch commander, he’d certainly be dead in a canyon right now. A pang of longing shot through his heart and he forcibly pulled his mind away from that line of thought, unwilling to wallow in sorrow so early in the morning. He grabbed the empty ceramic bowl from his desk and made for the kitchen.

With only twenty minutes left until formation for Winston’s exercise, most of the agents had already cleared out of the kitchen. Surprisingly, Hanzo was still there, washing another of the community bowls. Jesse hovered in the doorway, unsure if he should leave the bowl or risk interacting with Hanzo.

“Good morning, McCree.”

Shit. Too late to escape, now. He glared up towards the heavens, cursing whichever of his dead family was watching over him today. Probably Amari. She would have found this hilarious. He schooled his face into a more neutral expression for Hanzo. “Mornin’.” 

Hanzo casually glance at him. “I could wash that for you.”

Jesse narrowed his eyes. Why was he being so polite? “Uh, no, that’s alright. It ain’t no trouble.”

“It is less trouble for me, as I already have the wash rag.” Hanzo held up the soapy rag. Like Jesse didn’t know what a rag looked like.

“Well. Alright, then.” He handed over the bowl, still confused and a little suspicious.

“I see you enjoyed your meal,” Hanzo commented. “There is not a single grain of rice left.” How did he—oh right, Genji would probably cook for him, too.

“Not as flavorful as I’d normally like, but I ain’t one to turn down free food.”

“Well, I am glad you managed to eat it anyway.”

This conversation was _really_ beginning to weird him out. “Why would you be glad?”

Bowl now clean, Hanzo rinsed it and placed it in the drying rack. “I was not sure if you were eating the food or just throwing it away.”

It clicked. “Wait—are _you _the one who keeps leaving me food?”

Hanzo pulled the plug at the bottom of the sink, allowing the dirty water to noisily swirl down the pipes. He turned, drying his hands on a towel. “Yes. Who did you think it was?”

“Genji, obviously.”

Hanzo raised a thick eyebrow. “I should hope my cooking is better than his.”

The food _had _been less… burnt than usual. “I thought that Doc was givin’ him tips or somethin’.” 

Hanzo shrugged. They stared at each other, the silence growing awkward. Well, more awkward. Than usual. 

Ah, fuck it. “Why are you givin’ me food, anyway?”

“As you said, we cannot be friends until we share a meal. I am merely returning the favor.”

“You’ve repaid me five times over this week,” Jesse pointed out. 

Hanzo did not reply, avoiding looking at him directly. 

Jesse’s eyes darted to the clock. They still had fifteen minutes. Might as well lay his cards on the table. “Is it ‘cause I’m skinnier than a slim jim?”

“I did not wish to be rude in saying it,” he admitted. “You are very thin. Dr. Ziegler has expressed concern for you to Genji.” 

Blood rushed to Jesse’s face in anger and embarrassment. “I don’t need pity meals, thanks.”

Hanzo frowned. “It is not pity. You told me that one of the conditions of our truce is that I must attend all the missions you volunteer for. I am unwilling to put my safety and the safety of others at risk because you are not eating properly.”

“Well, I don’t need a nanny, either,” he said, voice sharp.

A look of consternation crossed Hanzo’s face. “I do not understand your resistance. It is clear that you are not eating enough and it is affecting your performance in training. I am only trying to assist. I would do the same for any of the other agents.”

“You sure about that?” Jesse pressed. “This ain’t about ingratiatin’ yourself to Genji?”

“No! Genji does not know I am doing this.”

“Then what’s your game?”

“I do not have ‘a game’. Why must everything I do have an ulterior motive?”

“I’m not lookin’ for an ulterior motive, just _a _motive. Preferably _the _motive, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“As I said, I was trying to be helpful!” 

Jesse shot him a look that clearly asked, _really_? 

“_Tch_. I do not have time for this.” Hanzo stormed past him with short, powerful strides exiting the kitchen without a backwards glance. 

Jesse shrugged to himself. He may not have been able to draw out the real reason Hanzo was giving him food, but he doubted it would continue now that Shimada’s properly pissed off. Good enough. He followed Hanzo’s footsteps at a languid pace, long legs allowing him to catch up just before they reached the rest of the agents gathered in the yard.

Everyone seemed to have arrived already. Doc was in casual clothing, so she was probably just acting as standby medical. It made sense given her ethical aversion to weapons and killing and such. Reinhardt was in a simple white tank top and gym shorts so horrifyingly short that Torbjörn didn’t even reach the hem. Jesse squinted. 

Torbjörn wasn’t in exercise clothes. Neither was Brigitte. Even Lena was wearing jeans rather than her usual skin-tight leggings. He couldn’t draw any conclusions from Zenyatta, who wore the same loose pants and sash regardless of activity. Then he spotted Winston, carrying a ball, several thin rods, and a mess of cloth. His stomach dropped. _Oh no._

He looked around the yard, eyeing the objects lying about. Walking over, he had assumed that Torbjörn or Brigitte moved a project outside, given the seemingly purposeless masses of metal and crates. Now he was certain they were placed for a much more sinister purpose.

Winston adjusted his glasses nervously. “Good morning, team! I hope everyone enjoyed physical training this morning.”

A chorus of groans echoed into the warm air. Reinhardt put his fists on his hips. “It sounds like I need to design a more motivating workout!” The groans immediately shifted to over-exuberant cheers. “Ha! That is more like it.”

Winston coughed politely, waiting for the noise to die down. “As you all know, we will be conducting team building exercises today. I know those of you who come from combat-oriented backgrounds may have expected a more, uh, physical method of building camaraderie, but I thought it might be helpful if we started small.” He deposited the rods and ball on the ground and held up the armful of cloth. “We’re going to do a trust-course! Everyone pair up and one person from each pair will grab a blindfold.”

“Kinky!” Lena exclaimed, grinning impishly.

“Lena!” Doc reprimanded.

“You two should partner up,” Winston suggested, too busy untangling the blindfolds to hear their argument. 

It would take five minutes for everyone to pair off and another five minutes for Winston to finally solve the knot, but he explained the rules as he worked. “One member of the team will put on the blindfold while the other partner gives verbal directions on how to cross the courtyard. As you can see, Reinhardt and Torbjörn have placed obstacles that each team will have to navigate around. Once you make it to the sidewalk on the other side of the yard, the partners will switch roles. The first team back here wins. Now about teams…” 

Intent on getting the agents to know one another better, Winston broke up several predictable pairs. Brigitte was parted from Reinhardt in favor of Torbjörn, since Doc and Genji outright refused to partner with him. Neither Doc nor Zenyatta were permitted to partner with Genji, who was instead paired with Reinhardt. Lena paired with Doc and Hanzo with Zenyatta, leaving only Winston and Jesse.

Oh hold on now-- he might be able to get out of this after all. 

“Hey, Winston, looks like I’ll have to sit this one out. We got an odd number of folks.” Jesse cautiously took a step back from the group, nice and easy. Just play it cool.

“Ohoho, no you don’t!” A large hand caught him by the scruff of his shirt and gently tugged him back into the fold. Reinhardt beamed down at him. “Winston needs a partner!”

“Aw, Reinhardt,” _Let me go, let me go, letmego_. “I’m sure Winston has to play ref. How else are we gonna make sure it’s fair?”

The giant man guffawed, slapping Jesse so hard on the back that he nearly pitched forward into the dirt. “It is true that competition gets the blood flowing in Overwatch!” He lowered his voice to what he probably thought was a whisper, but was still easily intelligible to everyone around him. “Especially Torbjörn, that old fox. Keep an eye on him, eh?”

“Bah,” Torbjörn said, “you’re as bad as the rest of us, old man.”

“Eureka!” Winston held up the freed blindfolds. “Alright, everyone come and grab one. Jesse, would you go to the other end of the courtyard? You’ll make sure that everyone switches off at the right spot. I’ll do the same on this side.”

Jesse sighed, shoulders dropping as he resigned himself to his fate. “You got it, boss.” 

He broke into a light jog, legs groaning in protest at the movement. His muscles loosened about halfway across the yard, only to tighten again the moment he stopped. Really should stretch more_._ He waved to Winston to show he was in position. 

For a moment, nothing happened. The group of agents milled about with no real purpose or direction. Jesse could hear the sound of voices, but not well enough to actually discern the words. A piercing whistle shattered the calm and what followed was nothing short of chaotic.

Reinhardt charged ahead at a full sprint, heedless of Genji’s yells for caution, blindly running into several blocks of iron and shouting in pain. Doc was inching forward, step after careful step, much to Lena’s obvious frustration and impatience. In contrast, Brigitte and Torbjörn were making surprisingly good progress. The short Swede took quick but incredibly consistent strides, his predictability simplifying Brigitte’s duty of barking out commands. In fact, the engineering duo were in the lead for the first leg of the race until the last obstacle—a long, low pipe.

“In two steps, there will be a pipe,” Brigitte said, the spark in her eye betraying her affected boredom. “Step over that and it’s just ten more paces until we switch.”

“I can’t believe I came out of retirement for—hurk!” Torbjörn tripped over the pipe, landing face-first in the dirt below. 

Biting his knuckle so he wouldn’t laugh, Jesse watched as Brigitte froze mid-step, her large eyes rounding even wider at the sight of her father sprawled on the ground. A loud, guttural grunt broke the silence and then Brigitte was bent double, laughing and snorting in equal measure. Torbjörn was still struggling on the ground, eventually wrenching the blindfold from his face and waving it angrily in Brigitte’s face as he shouted in Swedish.

“Hey, that’s a foul!” Jesse said, laughing as he spoke. “Can’t take off the masks, Torbjörn!”

“Blast the masks, blast this game, and blast _you_! We were winning!”

“What once was will not always be,” Zenyatta chimed. The omnic serenely felt out his path to the finish line, sweeping his foot in an outward circle before gently shifting his weight on to his outstretched foot in a sort of deliberate dance. Hanzo walked slightly behind him, occasionally muttering brief instructions. “Have I passed the finishing point?”

Jesse’s eyes flickered to Zenyatta’s faceplate, ensuring that the blindfold covered all nine photoreceptors. “Yeah, y’all can switch.”

“INCOMING!” Genji cried out. 

Out the corner of his eye, Jesse saw something large flying towards him. Instinctively, he dove forward, crashing into Brigitte and taking her to the ground with him. The metal contraption soared far overhead, without danger of hitting them even if they had remained standing. 

Brigitte pushed at him. “Get off!”

“Sorry,” he said, rolling to the side before pushing himself to his feet. 

He looked about, trying to piece together exactly what had just happened. Torbjörn was investigating the fallen projectile, cooing at it forlornly as if he was caring for an injured bird. Zenyatta patted the engineer on the shoulder, saying some mystic phrase or other. Hanzo had joined Genji, and they were both hovering over Reinhardt’s prone form. Winston was ambling across the field, anxiety clear on his face. Lena had abandoned Doc in favor of involving herself in the excitement, leaving the doctor calling for her partner in confusion, still trying to inch her way across the yard blindfolded. 

Utterly perplexed, Jesse forced his weary legs to jog once more to the small crowd. “What the hell happened?”

“Reinhardt thinks he’s a Pampalona bull,” Genji said, voice full of exasperation but with a thrum of concern beneath it. “He ended up kicking that training bot and fell. I think he hit his head.” Reinhardt groaned miserably. Genji stood up from his crouched position. “Angela! Reinhardt’s hurt!”

“What?” Doc peeked out from beneath her blindfold, looking harried. “It hasn’t even been an hour!” At the sight of Reinhardt lying prone on the ground, she sprinted to the start and grabbed her medical kit before running to his side. “I had hoped we would outgrow injuries on Overwatch Field Days,” she muttered distractedly. She forced his good eye open, shining a flashlight at it to observe his pupil. “On a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?”

“Oof… _funf_?”

Doc hummed disapprovingly, clicking off the flashlight and withdrawing two quarter-sized adhesives. She cracked each one and attached them to his temples and the crowd of agents watched as the circles began to emit a golden glow. 

Reinhardt’s eyes fluttered open. “Gahh, I’ll feel _that _in the morning.”

The Overwatch agents took a collective breath of relief knowing their Crusader would recover. Grinning, Winston held a hand out and hauled Reinhardt to his feet. Shaking her head in fond annoyance, Doc pressed another pair of adhesives into his hand. 

“Take two, and call me in the morning if you feel any dizziness or nausea.”

“Much obliged, Angela!”

“Does this mean we’re done here?” Torbjörn asked, cradling his damaged bot in his arms.

Jesse perked up at the prospect.

Winston cleared his throat uneasily. “Um, I think we’re done with the, ah, obstacle race. Yes. But that’s not all I had planned!”

Shot down, of course. Hopefully the other activities ended as quickly as this one.

“Are you sure about that, Winston?” Lena asked, jerking a thumb at Reinhardt. “We’ve already got one casualty today.”

“Hey! I’m still kicking!”

“Oh, this isn’t a physical game, I promise.”

“You seem to underestimate Overwatch agents’ propensity for self-harm,” Doc sniffed, still packing her first aid kit.

“It’s just a simple game of toss. Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Winston led the group back to the starting point and scooped up a rubber ball. He held it up high so everyone could see. Jesse was close enough that he could make out what appeared to be sentences written all over its face. “We will take turns tossing this ball to each other. When you catch it, you have to read and answer whatever question your right thumb is on. Where the obstacle course was meant to build trust through action, this is meant to build trust through familiarity.”

“Isn’t the phrase familiarity breeds contempt?” Jesse asked.

“Well, uh, I guess.” Winston scratched his chest. “It’s been seven years since Overwatch was together and not many of us kept in contact during that time. Plus we have two new members who weren’t ever a part of Overwatch before…”

“I would appreciate learning more about my fellow beings,” Zenyatta said. “As I do not know any of you well.” 

Winston gave the monk a grateful look.

“So, uh, are there any questions about the game?”

“Do we have to?” Torbjörn grumbled lowly, voicing Jesse’s own thoughts.

Brigitte snickered at the him. “Papa volunteers to start!”

“Excellent! Everyone get in a circle.” 

The group obeyed, forming a shape that Jesse would describe as “vaguely round”. Winston tossed the ball through the air at Torbjörn, who struggled for a moment to catch it with his mechanical arm.

“And be sure to introduce yourself!” Reinhardt called out.

“We already know each other’s names!” Reinhardt crossed his arms, still smiling but raising his brows all the same. “Bah, fine. I am Torbjörn Lindholm. I hail from Sweden. I am an engineer and I am too old for this.” He looked down at the ball, patting his beard down so he could read past it. “’Do you have a significant other?’ Yes. Wife.” He threw the ball to Reinhardt.

“I am Reinhardt Wilhelm, from Germany! I was a Crusader, part of the original Overwatch strike team, and served Overwatch for eleven years! The question is ‘Can you play any instruments?’ Ah, that takes me back. When I was a small boy, I learned to play the piccolo! I once dreamt of performing in the Berlin Philharmonic, but I grew so large that I could not hit the keys properly. So the dream of the bard died and the dream of the knight began!”

“That’s…” Lena began.

“Tragic?” Jesse suggested, thumbs hooked on his beltloops.

“Poetic?” Reinhardt said.

“Yeah, let’s go with that.” She said as she caught the ball. “Hello, loves! My name is Lena Oxton and if you can’t tell from the accent, I’m from the UK—London, specifically. I was a part of the RAF right up until a huge accident with an Overwatch project! See, there was this experimental jet that was supposed to jump through time, but the whole thing went tits-up and I got stuck in a parallel dimension—“

“You were disassociated from time,” Winston clarified.

“Yeah, that, and then my best pal Winston engineered this wicked chronal anchor that keeps me tied to this dimension--”

“This time stream.”

“Exactly! I normally wear it on me so I can go wherever I want, but it really just needs to be within three meters of me. Oh, unless there’s interference or--”

“The question, Lena?”

“Oh, right! Let’s see… ‘What is your favorite cereal?’ Pft, that’s easy! Lucio-o’s are delicious!”

Doc frowned. “That cereal has almost no nutritional value and is laden with monosaturated fats—“

“Worth it.” Lena pitched the ball to Doc, who missed. It slammed into her face, causing her to screech in surprise. Laughter escaped Jesse, loud and boisterous, as Genji rushed to her side only to be waved away.

“I am fine! It’s only my pride that stings.” Genji continued to hover anxiously until Doc physically pushed him away and he retreated to his space between Zenyatta and Hanzo. “Now then. My name is Doctor Angela Ziegler. I am Swiss, although I spent a large amount of time outside of my home nation for educational purposes. I am an alumni of Oxford University, where I studied at the Medical School with a concentration in surgical- and nano-technologies—“

“Damn, doc,” Jesse said. “We asked for a little about yourself, not your resume.”

Doc rolled her eyes. “I served with Overwatch’s medical staff for nine years. The question is ‘where and when did you receive your first kiss?’” She looked up, eyes wide. “Winston! Where did you get these questions?”

“Um, internet?”

“I can answer this question,” Genji piped up. _Should’ve brought popcorn,_ Jesse realized regrettably late.

“Don’t you dare!”

“It was a actually her roommate in—“ Doc let out an inhuman scream, chucking the ball violently at Genji’s face. The ninja ducked reflexively, and the ball sailed through the empty space into Hanzo’s waiting hands.

“’What is one thing that all of your love interests have had in common?’” Jesse blinked and breathed desperately through his nose, willing himself not to laugh. He _had _to hear this. Hanzo looked up from the ball. “They are dead.” 

Jesse blinked. Hanzo released his grip and let the ball fall to the ground. It bounced twice as he walked away. The rest of the agents remained in the circle, unsure of how to react.

“Well,” Jesse drawled out, “I’d say that’s enough team-buildin’ for today. I for one feel much closer to y’all. I can tell that we really,” he interlaced his fingers together, “tested our bonds. Great success. Good job, Winston.”

“But I did not get a question,” Genji said mournfully.

Winston frowned at his bag of team-building games. “Perhaps I was too ambitious for our first exercise.” He sighed heavily. “I’m a terrible leader.”

Dammit. If anyone told him ten years ago that he’d have a weakness for sad moon gorillas… “No, it was great Winston! I think it was, uh, a great start. I had fun. Did everyone else have fun?” Jesse swept his eyes over the remaining members, nodding his head emphatically. There were a couple half-hearted ‘yeahs’ and cheers from Reinhardt and Lena. “See?”

“I guess.”

“We had another one of these planned for tomorrow, right?” Winston nodded, still not looking up. “Why don’t we do somethin’ similar to this, but without all the personal questions?”

“What do you mean?”

“We could focus it on what we do for combat roles. We could talk about our weapons and our armor, what we’re good at.”

“And we could talk about basic first aid and injury prevention!” Doc volunteered.

“And proper equipment maintenance!” Brigitte said, glaring up meaningfully at Reinhardt.

“There you go, we already got buy-in.”

“Hmm,” Winston held his chin with one hand. “It would allow us to get to know one another on a personal level while maintaining a professional environment, both of which are critical for team performance.”

“Er, sure!”

Winston perked up, yellow eyes sparkling. “It’s perfect! Thank you, McCree. I’m going to go plan this right now.” Rolling up on his knuckles, Winston made it halfway across the yard before he turned. “Oh, uh, everyone is dismissed for the day.”

Torbjörn trundled away without another word. Reinhardt happily shook his head before following suit with Brigitte. Welp. No sense in hanging around. Jesse looked to Genji and Doc, tipping his hat in his own silent goodbye. They returned the gesture with a wave. 

Today was more or less a bust. Sure, he managed to set Winston in a new direction for training—hopefully there wouldn’t be any more of these god awful games—but it was only lunch time, and he had no real way to fill his days. Especially now that he wasn’t monitoring Hanzo. He might as well shine and oil up his equipment, make it look nice for tomorrow. His calf cramped tightly and he winced, favoring it as he walked. Maybe he should look into yoga…

He closed his door behind him and moved to toss his hat on his desk only to freeze. “Well I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he muttered. 

There, in the very center of his cleaned-off desk, was a bowl of hot ramen. He approached it slowly, as if he feared it would leap at him at any moment. No one had ever told him “fuck you” in food before. Should he throw it away? On principle alone, he figured he should, but that was _home-made_ ramen, damn it! 

He poked at the spoon handle that rested on the lip of the bowl. The liquid inside rippled, a small puff of steamy aroma escaping it. His stomach growled. The curry rice that morning was great, but not enough to compensate for missing dinner last night. He sniffed a little deeper, appreciating the savory flavor and the slight pinch in his nostrils that always accompanied—wait is that _cayenne_? He questions Hanzo’s motives, criticizes his cooking, and blatantly refuses any further meals, and Hanzo responds by _making his food spicier_?

“Sweet baby Jesus.” He sat at the desk, any pretense of tossing the ramen abandoned in favor of shoving it in his mouth. The scalding liquid burned his tongue, but that didn’t stop him from gulping down another spoonful. What an asshole, being so fucking nice that Jesse couldn’t hate him as much. He had a god damn reputation to uphold! Standards and—he slurped another mouthful of noodles—and honor! Did he think that Jesse would up and abandon his completely-justified grudge just because he _fed _him?

Halfway through the bowl, Jesse dropped his spoon in shock. _Shit_. That’s exactly what was happening. He was actually starting to think better of Hanzo. What the hell, was his stomach connected to his heart?! He looked down at his belly accusingly. Traitor. Easing back in the chair, he sighed heavily. Were there any downsides to allowing this… whatever it was, to continue? Genji had already weaseled his brother into the Blackwatch meetings, what more was there for Hanzo to exploit if he was truly against them? He had access to everything already. And he was such a good cook. Jesse stared at the golden liquid still swirling the contents of the ramen. Fuck it. He grabbed the spoon and took another heavenly bite. 

Hanzo was going to do _all _of his dishes, though.


	12. Rookies

Genji was the first to arrive in the urban simulation range, almost twenty minutes early. 

So he was a bit eager, who could criticize him? This was a golden opportunity to unabashedly show off his _incredible _skills! Not that he normally needed an excuse, he wasn’t shy about his talent—he’d put in the years of work and practice and refinement, why shouldn’t he enjoy the gazes of admiration and amazement when he executed flawless technique? In fact, he should start planning his performance. Perhaps he could start by jumping from the top of the two-story office building? Yes, that sounded like a good start. 

He scaled the structure easily and paused at the top. The view was nice from here, as long as you didn’t breathe too deeply. It looked like an entire flock of sea birds had made the roof of this building their nesting ground. Okay, back to the important things, should he swan dive or do flips? If he swan dived, he’d have to roll the landing anyways and they looked cooler in his opinion, anyway. He peeked over the edge of the roof, trying to decide which angle would produce the most dramatic effect, when the sound of voices echoed from the entrance hall.

“_What_ are you wearing.” 

That was _anija_, as perniciously punctual as ever. Who was he talking to? Hanzo hadn’t been particularly fond of company lately. He had certainly taken pains to avoid _him _since they picked up Master Zenyatta.

“What’re you talking about?” 

Genji nearly fell from his perch as he recognized _Jesse’s _voice. His brother and best friend had been behaving oddly since their supposed truce, but for them to walk together was nothing short of miraculous. Of course, it’s more likely that they accidentally arrived at the same time rather than coordinated a planned meet-up. 

“This is my battle rattle. I always wear somethin’ like this on missions.”

“Something like this?” _Anija _parroted. 

Genji snickered at the flat sound of disbelief in his voice. The duo were exiting the hall now, making their way to the center of the range. On impulse, Genji flattened himself on the roof of the mock office building. Technically, it did not have an eave, so this really wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Yeah. Can’t the explanation wait until everyone else gets here? I don’t wanna have to talk about it twice. I’d like to hear about your get-up though. It looks very, uh, traditional.” A disappointing silence settled. Genji peeked over the edge of the roof to see his brother and Jesse standing pointedly apart, awkwardly avoiding looking at the other. Jesse’s face disappeared behind his hand as he lit a cigarette. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“Please, do not mention it.”

“I get the feelin’ that you mean that literally.”

“I do.”

“Alrighty then.” Another thirty second silence. “So, about yesterday.” 

Hanzo grunted. 

“That was a pretty dramatic exit.”

“Hm.”

“Would it kill ya to contribute to the conversation?”

“Perhaps not, but I am unwilling to risk it.” 

Genji waited for Jesse’s snappy follow-up, but was once again disappointed when only a deep chuckle echoed up to him. 

He remained hidden at the top of the building for a little longer, hoping for more illuminating conversation, but the sound of voices in the hallway a few minutes later eliminated the chance of further discussion. With a put-upon sigh, he slunk over the edge of the roof, not taking care to be particularly elegant. Still, Jesse jumped slightly when Genji landed on the ground, small puffs of dirt rising up from the impact. 

Hanzo gave him a once-over. ⟪How long were you up there?⟫

⟪Long enough,⟫ Genji replied smugly.

Jesse opened his mouth, looking irritated, but his voice was not the next to speak.

“Oh! Hello there. I didn’t expect anyone to show up early.” Winston looked between the three brightly, cheered at the thought of willing participants as Lena and Zenyatta filed in behind him.

“Well,” Jesse drawled, “That’s what happens when you give military folk a place and time to be. Fifteen minutes early is on time and on time is fifteen minutes late.”

“But according to that logic, I’d already be late to my own meeting.”

“Never said it made sense,” Jesse shrugged. “Just said it’s what we do.”

“The boss can’t be late!” Lena chimed in. “That’s a rule all its own. ‘Sides, Reinhardt isn’t here and he’s lifelong military.”

“He’s probably gearin’ up. Takes him forever to put on all his armor.”

“Bah! You should have seen him when he had all his hair.” Torbjörn said as he walked through the entrance to the urban sim. “Took him _hours _to get ready for battle.”

“Good morning, Torbjörn!” Lena waved cheerfully. 

Torbjörn grunted in response, leaning on a hammer nearly as large as him. Genji watched him warily. Thanks to extensive and involuntary compassion meditation under Master Zenyatta’s instruction, he no longer wanted to tear Torbjörn’s head from his shoulders, but he hadn’t managed forgiveness, either.

“Wait for me!” Reinhardt’s unmistakable voice echoed out of the hallway, his usually loud volume magnified by the narrow space.

“Not so loud,” Brigitte complained.

“Perhaps I should conduct a hearing exam for him…” Angela’s voice followed.

“Eh? What was that?” Reinhardt exited the hallway, stepping into the bright sunlight. As large as the German was in his day-to-day outfits, he was absolutely mountainous in his Crusader armor. 

Silver steel encased his entire body, with carefully articulated joints allowing easy movement—as long as the wearer had the physical strength to even lift the plates of armor. An artfully crafted lion motif dominated his left forearm. Around his chest, the armor protruded slightly in the front, housing the mechanics that powered the mini turbine on his back. While his left arm cradled a three-pronged, full helmet, his right held the hilt of a warhammer so massive that it made Reinhardt seem proportional. It was as though a knight of old had stepped through the pages of a fairy tale right into the modern era. Genji didn’t even notice Angela and Brigitte with him until they stepped directly into his line of sight.

⟪Impressive.⟫ Hanzo nodded appreciatively. ⟪I cannot help but wonder, however, whether the size of his hammer is meant to compensate for other things.⟫

Genji laughed loudly, drawing the attention of those closest to the brothers.

Winston, oblivious as usual, took no note. “Is this everyone? One, two…and ten including me. Excellent, everyone is accounted for! Okay, who would like to go first?”

“I shall lead the charge!” Reinhardt bellowed, flexing his arms in a series of bodybuilder poses. He twisted in the classic back flex, only for a loud popping sound to interrupt him. He hunched over, one hand bracing against his knee and the other holding his back. “Actually, I might need a moment…”

“I told you to stretch, old man!” Brigitte stomped to Reinhardt’s side, berating him even as she guided him through gentle warm-ups.

“Uh, I guess I’ll just lead by example.” Winston moved into the center of the main clearing in the urban simulation. “I’ll talk everyone through my basic repertoire of skills before I conduct a brief demonstration. I’ve never been a part of mission teams—I was in the research and development department—so this should be new information for everyone.” 

The group circled around Winston, giving him ample space to show his gear. Genji sat in place cross legged, while Hanzo leaned against the building beside them.

“May I join you?” Zenyatta asked politely.

“Of course, Master.” His mentor settled beside him in an immaculate lotus position, humming in peaceful satisfaction. Genji tilted his head at Angela, silently inviting her to join him. She smiled but shook her head, pointing at her white Valkyrie suit and then at the dusty ground. Pushing his disappointment to the side, Genji nodded in return.

“Ahem,” Winston cleared his throat to quiet the drone of conversation around him. When everyone had redirected their attention to him, he began. “As all of you know, I was born and raised on the Moon as a part of a program designed to test the effects of genetic therapy on gorillas. The program… didn’t go as intended and I had to escape the Horizon Colony on the only functioning emergency pod.” Winston paused, blinking rapidly. 

“Anyway, this suit was originally designed for near-range space missions like maintenance or geological studies. I’ve modified it to be more resilient to gunfire, but you can still see the original gray suit underneath my additions.” He pointed to the slate colored fabric not entirely covered by the white over-armor. “I kept the booster jets as well,” he twisted to better display the two slim jets that ran parallel down the length of his back. “They’re best for rapid vertical acceleration. I haven’t removed my sun visor either, although I don’t know what kind of battlefield function they might serve.” He chuckled briefly, until he realized no one was laughing along.

“Um, right. I’ve been working on developing a portable shield projector, but it’s still in the early stages of development. And, uh, what else… Oh, yes! I brought my Tesla cannon as well!”

Torbjörn snorted. “Still using that feather duster of a gun? How’s that working for you?”

Winston hefted up a large weapon, too blocky and rectangular to resemble any traditional rifle or gun, aiming one end towards the sky. He pressed the button underneath its handle and the weapon crackled to life, bolts of electricity arcing into the air wildly, hissing and spitting like digital vipers as they searched for a target. “Why don’t you come over here and ask that again?” the scientist asked smugly.

Torbjörn stared up at the dancing lights approvingly. “I see you’ve made some modifications! Can I see the blueprints?”

“Maybe some other time.” Winston released the trigger and the sizzling sound of electricity stopped. Genji peered at the weapon curiously. Several wires and cables traveled along the length of the—steel or carbon?—metal casing, which split into two narrow arms halfway down. It looked to be unwieldy and heavy, certainly nowhere near as artful as his own choice of weapon, but for Winston’s considerable size and strength it seemed well-paired. 

“Too oversimplify,” Winston resumed his explanation, “the Tesla cannon functions as an oversized taser. It emits an electrical field that extends approximately eight meters from the barrel. It’s especially effective against unprotected electrical constructs and, in sufficient doses, can incapacitate living beings as well.”

“Can we see them booster jets in action?” Jesse called out.

“Uh, sure. Everyone back up. No one’s standing behind me, right? Okay, here we go!” Winston crouched and then leapt, bright white plasma firing behind him as he sailed into the air, easily over ten meters high, and landed twenty meters away. 

Jesse whistled.

⟪I never thought I’d see flying monkeys outside of a movie,⟫ Hanzo muttered. A second joke? Genji turned his head to see one corner of his brother’s mouth pulled into the barest of smiles.

Tentatively, hopefully: ⟪If we’re lucky, we may fight a wicked witch!⟫ 

Hanzo chuckled. Warmth flooded through Genji’s body. So much tension and strain melted away with his return to his brother’s good graces. He hadn’t realized how stressed he was when Hanzo wasn’t speaking to him.

“Coming through!” Winston shouted as he touched down from his return leap, dirt billowing up around him. “Okay, who’s next?”

“Uh, Winston, love?” Lena raised her hand. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know… the whole ‘don’t make me angry’ bit.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Um, yes. I wouldn’t exactly consider it an ability.” Winston shuffled in embarrassment.

“I think it would still be important for the new guys to know, yeah?”

“I—yes, I suppose you’re right.” He cleared his throat again before addressing the group. “I have a tendency to revert to a reduced intellectual state accompanied by heightened physical responsiveness whenever my emotional well-being is compromised.”

Torbjörn squinted. “…What?”

“He goes ape-shit when he’s mad,” Jesse translated.

Genji cackled.

Angela rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Jesse McCree, was that a _pun_?”

Jesse laughed, shoving his thumbs in belt loops. “Don’t know what you mean, sweetheart.”

“McCree, you’re next,” Winston said crisply, clearly irritated with the humor at his expense.

Jesse shrugged, his serape fluttering with the movement. “I’ll be quick. Ain’t much to tell.”

⟪With that outfit?⟫ Hanzo said. ⟪I’d say he has quite a bit to explain for himself.⟫ 

Jesse narrowed his eyes at Genji’s brother but didn’t confront him, only able to understand the tone of the words and not the meaning.

“I’ve had extensive training in small unit tactics. I’m proficient in the use of most small-arms and in hand-to-hand combat. I’m best in close-quarters. These,” He unclipped a small canister from his belt, “are non-lethal flash bang grenades. They can immobilize an enemy by temporarily deafenin’ and blindin’ him. I don’t think y’all want a personal demonstration of that.” He reattached it to the loop. “This,” he said as he drew his revolver from his belt, “is a custom Colt Python that I like to call Peacekeeper. It’s a high-powered, double-action revolver that uses custom, expensive ammunition. As such, if you folk want to see my shootin’ skills, I’ll be usin’ one of the weapons in the arms room.” He slid the revolver back into its holster. “Yup, easy as that. Any questions?”

“You’re wearing chaps.” Torbjörn said incredulously.

“That ain’t a question.”

“Isn’t it?” Hanzo countered dryly.

Affronted, Jesse glared at Hanzo. “Hey, I kicked your _ass _in these chaps! It’s not like they’re just for lookin’ pretty. They’re made out of leather and work real well as light-weight protective gear. Not to mention I was working odd jobs on farms and shit for the past decade, and these happen to be dead useful when you’re shoein’ a horse.”

“_Mein gott,_” Brigitte gasped with an expression of horror, “he’s actually a cowboy.”

“What, did you think I just like cosplayin’?”

“Well,” Angela stretched out, smiling apologetically when Jesse shot her a betrayed look.

“Explain the blanket, then,” Hanzo demanded.

“Okay, first? It’s a _serape_. It masks my silhouette and makes it harder for folk to get a solid hit on me. Also makes a good tourniquet in a pinch. Second, I don’t make fun of _your _get up, Robin Hood.”

“Excuse me,” Zenyatta interrupted gently but firmly. “What does B-A-M-F mean? I am unfamiliar with the term.”

Jesse glanced down at his oversized belt buckle emblazoned with the acronym. He grinned at the omnic proudly. “Bad-ass mother fucker!”

“I see.” Zenyatta nodded sagely. 

Genji snorted at the absurdity of it all.

“Thank you, McCree.” Winston said with an air of finality. “Reinhardt are you ready?”

“I’ve never felt better!” Reinhardt thudded to the center of the group as Jesse retreated to his spot and flopped to the ground. “My career began long ago, years before the Omnic Crisis as a Crusader in the German military. From my years as a fledgling recruit to the dying days of the Crusader Battalion, I was part of a narrative that evolved into a true epic with honorable heroes and cunning villains!” An intense craving for pretzels swept over Genji as Reinhardt launched into his dramatic tale. Only a few weeks working with Reinhardt and he had already developed a Pavlovian response to story time. “We fought for glory and honor, in defense of the innocent--”

“How about we save the history lesson for later, eh?” Brigitte said, flipping her ponytail. “Let’s keep to talking about your gear.”

“But Brigitte, how will they understand my motivations? Our code of honor? The life of a Crusader—”

“Is not his own, but belongs to the people.” She finished the quote with a well-practiced air. Brigitte put her hands on her hips and leaned slightly back to look Reinhardt in the eye. “But is this how you want to tell the story?”

“Of course! What better time is there?”

A time with pretzels, of course.

“Good storytelling is all about _presentation_. A legendary tale such as ours can only be appreciated after a good meal, in front of a blazing hearth, and with a beer in hand!”

“Too true, _fraulein_! Alright, I shall defer the Saga of the Crusaders for another time.”

⟪Is she that good at manipulating everyone, or just Reinhardt?⟫ Hanzo whispered.

⟪Oh, he knows what she’s doing,⟫ Genji said under his breath, not trying to interrupt Brigitte’s explanation of armor forging. ⟪They’re always putting on a show. That was them letting everyone know they’re planning a dinner.⟫

“—and when coupled with modern hard-light technologies, it allows Reinhardt to project a large shield that blocks most projectiles. Demonstration, please?”

“With pleasure!” Taking a moment to set his helmet down, Reinhardt brought his left arm before him, parallel to the ground, before closing his fist and rolling it inwards. The lion motif opened its jaws wide, eyes glowing a fiery orange, releasing a bright blue light that rapidly expanded into a large rectangular shield that easily covered Reinhardt with space to spare.

“The shield can only take so much damage before the regenerative powers of the hard light engine are overwhelmed. At that point, Reinhardt must deactivate the shield so that the engine can perform self-repairs. It takes about twelve seconds for a fully depleted shield to regenerate completely. There are obvious defensive benefits for having a shield, although it drastically limits his mobility. To compensate for this, Crusader suits have mini jet turbines built into them.” Reinhardt turned to better display the circular engine that took up the majority of his back. “It takes significant power to rapidly accelerate such a heavy set of armor, so a charge doesn’t even last a whole second. In that time, though, Reinhardt can travel upwards of fifty-five meters. Demonstration?”

Reinhardt grabbed his helmet from its place on the ground and dusted it off before donning it. “Safety first!” He walked to the edge of the cliff and turned his back to the sea, presumably to maximize his runway space in the crowded sim. Hammer in hand, he spread his stance wide and— the crush of sound was nearly unbearable as he soared past the group, clumps of dirt and rocks flying into the air behind him. He flew the entire length of the range before coming to an abrupt stop, shield raising not half a breath later. 

Genji snuck a glance at his brother as enthusiastic applause broke out among the group, remembering how in awe he was the first time he witnessed Reinhardt’s charge. Hanzo did not disappoint-- his thick eyebrows were high on his forehead and his mouth was parted slightly. For his up-tight brother, it was the equivalent of a jaw-drop.

Reinhardt thudded his way back to the agents, shouting ahead. “What a performance, if I do say so myself!”

Brigitte laughed loudly. “Yeah, yeah, save some glory for the rest of us, old man.” Her smile morphed into a smirk. “Speaking of old men, your turn, Papa.”

The engineer grunted irritably. “I don’t normally like to be directly involved in the fight. My craftsmanship does the talking for itself.” He swung down a heavy, iron contraption that had been hanging on his back as a rucksack would. 

It was roughly a cubic meter, maybe a little less in height. Even though it was painted red instead of Overwatch blue, Genji could recognize a Torbjörn Turret anywhere. Torbjörn hefted up his hammer high above his head with both hands before swinging it down violently, hitting the iron so hard that the surface collapsed a few centimeters. Genji leaned back in surprise before belatedly remembering that Torbjörn’s activation sequence was a little more… brute force than most engineers would care for. A mechanical whirring filled the air followed by metallic clanking and the iron block unfolded itself into a large turret.

“This beauty can go anywhere,” Torbjörn said, patting the top of the turret proudly. “All you have to do is set her down and activate her and she’ll take care of the rest. Her AI is limited, of course, learned my lesson from the Crisis. She has a line-of-sight aiming system. Right now I have her keyed to only target bots, but that can be adjusted to firing at certain types of uniforms or _not _firing based on uniforms. Course, that works best when it’s a clear fight between two sides, have to go manual if there are civilians or third parties involved.”

Angela narrowed her eyes at the turret. As beautiful as she was when she was angry, Genji _really_ didn’t want to fight on her behalf today. Master would have him meditating for years. 

“How _exactly _does your… invention select targets, Herr Lindholm?” She asked.

“Spectral signature analysis,” Torbjörn growled reluctantly, obviously still unwilling to trust Angela.

“Really?” Winston’s attention was focused intently on the machine, completely missing the silent battle between the doctor and the engineer. “I assume that it has a passive sensor that reads its surroundings?”

Torbjörn broke his steely gaze away from Angela, choosing to acknowledge Winston’s question instead, to Genji’s great relief. “It has both passive and active, actually. Passive for when she identifies actively and active for when she targets by exception. Active sensing has a much lower delay when identifying valid targets, but the trade off is near-indiscriminate firing, which is only useful in very specific circumstances of course.”

“I see! I presume we would need to fabricate some sort of paint or armor with a unique signature if we wanted to engage the active mode with an Overwatch team?”

Lena looked between Winston and Torbjörn in clear confusion. “Er, I’m not the only one who isn’t following this, right?”

Muttering under his breath, Torbjörn shook his head and swung his hammer on the turret, initiating its tear-down sequence. “Bah, it’s not important. What you need to know is that my skills are in building turrets and armor, not in running around with a gun.”

“Well, if you say so,” Lena said uncertainly. Her eyes brightened suddenly and she glanced around at the group. “Can I go next?” 

No one objected. 

“Right-o! Good morning loves, Lena here! My kit is probably both the easiest to understand and hardest to work with. Let’s start with the basics.” She held her arms up, ejecting two pistols from the holsters on her forearms into her waiting hands. “These nifty fellows fire pulse bullets, which means infinite ammo as long as it has batteries. Standard charge rates apply,” she winked. “Of course, pulse-tech isn’t what’s hard to work with, it’s me.” 

Genji felt a sinking sensations as he watched her holster her pistols and made a show of tightening the straps of her chronal accelerator. He had a strong suspicion of what she was about to do and while he wouldn’t ruin the surprise for everyone else, it was going to be a tough act to follow.

Lena tapped the glowing blue mechanism hugging her chest. Satisfied that her gear wouldn’t shift, she walked to the edge of the cliff as Reinhardt had earlier. Turning to the watching group, she grinned sharply. Lena stretched her arms wide-- “Be right back!” she called out—and tipped backwards over the edge of the cliff. Hanzo and Zenyatta were on their feet almost instantaneously, the latter crying out in fear. Then the air at the edge of the cliff shimmered, twisting and shifting before splitting open. Lena stood just as she had before she leapt off the cliff: short hair wildly ruffled, arms wide, and smile wider. “Now where were we?”

Genji chuckled, but cursed inwardly. That had been so well done, he would look boring in comparison. Him! A green cyborg ninja dude! No one could possibly top _time travel_. 

Beside him, Hanzo was still as tensed as his bow at full draw. Though relieved, Zenyatta placed a palm over his chest and wasted not a moment in chiding his informal student. “Lena, you gave me quite the fright.”

Lena’s grin turned sheepish. “Sorry, Zen. You gotta admit, though, that was pretty good!” 

Zenyatta hummed disapprovingly. 

“Anyway, that’s why it’s tricky putting me on the battlefield. I have to be very careful about where I put myself because one second I might be behind you and the next I could be in front of your rifle! So unless it’s a really small-scale scuffle, I don’t use my Recall ability except in emergencies. Same thing as my Blink--” her form disappeared again, a bright blue streak tracing her path before she reappeared in the center of the group nearly instantaneously. “It’s no good without coordination.”

Genji leaned over to Hanzo and poked his side insistently. ⟪Anija, you have to go next!⟫ he hissed.

Hanzo glanced at him, still focused on Lena. ⟪Why?⟫

⟪Because I won’t seem nearly as cool if I go after her!⟫ 

For one horrible moment as Hanzo rolled his eyes, Genji thought his brother would ignore him and abandon him to a fate of mediocrity, but then Hanzo strode to the center of the group as Lena finished her monologue.

“Good morning,” Hanzo began stiffly, bow clenched tightly in his left hand, chin tucked as he surveyed the agents with hooded eyes. “I possess no extraordinary talents, but the ones that I have cultivated are… unique.” He paused, eyes traveling over the assembled Overwatch agents challengingly. Genji felt his heart clench at his brother’s clear unease—he always compensated discomfort with an imperious attitude. “By trade, I am practiced in missions that require stealth and discretion.”

“_Assassin_,” Jesse coughed. 

Genji twisted around to glare at him, but the cowboy only shrugged, nonverbally saying_ what? He is._

“I am most comfortable engaging enemies from a distance,” Hanzo drove on, ignoring Jesse. “I am capable of using sniper rifles, but I find that their bulk limits my ability to reposition or to move quickly. As an alternative, I have mastered the bow as my weapon of preference.”

“A bow?” Reinhardt echoed dubiously. Genji snorted. Like a hammer was any better.

“Yes.” Hanzo confirmed, making no move to elaborate. 

Genji frowned. Mobility wasn’t the only reason his brother preferred the bow over guns.

⟪Brother, are you going to tell them about your dragons?⟫

Hanzo started at Genji’s voice. ⟪I was not planning on it. Do they know of yours?⟫

He winced. It appears there was at least one more topic that they hadn’t gotten around to discussing. ⟪…Mine is not as it used to be.⟫ 

Hanzo’s eyes sharpened, something like apprehension flickering behind them. Genji switched to English for the benefit of the group. “It looks like I am the last to perform!”

“Oh?” Zenyatta asked. “Is Dr. Ziegler not presenting today?”

Angela blushed lightly. “Oh, I don’t fight. I’m strictly a medic in the field. It’s just this suit and my medkit for me.”

Zenyatta’s photoreceptors blinked in a manner that Genji recognized as interest. “Really? You do not even carry a weapon?”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Ah, that would be correct.” 

Genji used the conversation’s distraction to his advantage, scaling the side of the office building and standing proudly above the other agents. Hanzo had tracked his entire journey, but Angela didn’t notice him until he was already on the roof. 

“Genji! What are you doing up there?”

He smirked behind his mask, contorting his body in exaggerated stretches. “Whatever do you mean, Angela?”

Even from such heights, he could see her eyes narrow threateningly. Better not drag this out too long. “You better not be doing what I _think _you’re doing,” she warned.

He paused in an overhead arm stretch. “I suppose that would depend on what you are thinking. Are you thinking that I would do… this?” 

He took two large strides back from the edge of the roof before sprinting and leaping off the building. In his cybernetic body, he couldn’t feel the wind rush past him, but he could hear it and his heart soared with the sensation of free fall. As the ground rushed up to greet him, Genji angled his legs beneath him. His feet hit the dirt first, but instead of breaking his joints trying to stick the landing, he allowed the forward momentum to fly him forward. His arms reached out as he tucked himself into a roll, from his right shoulder to his left hip, before coming up in a sprint, shuriken in hand. The blades buried themselves in the wall as he raced up the short building and came to an abrupt halt, his green ribbon fluttering with the continued inertia.

“Wicked!” Lena breathed, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Most impressive,” Zenyatta agreed. 

Genji preened at the praise.

Angela was rubbing her temples again. “I swear, between you and Lena, I will die an early death due to unnecessary stress on my cardiovascular system.”

“Because I’m heart-stoppingly handsome?” he teased. 

She threw her hands in the air in a show of exasperation, but she was grinning.

Reinhardt was frowning in confusion. “But how do you fight, Genji?” Right, Reinhardt had already ‘retired’ by the time he joined Overwatch...

“With shuriken and my blade,” he said, drawing his katana from the sheath on his back. “As you have seen, I am quite capable of acrobatic maneuvers. I use the utmost precision with my weapons. I can even deflect bullets.”

“Pft, okay,” Lena laughed, looking around to share her amusement, only to tilt her head when she realized no one else found his claim outrageous. Genji smirked.

“Why not test it yourself, Miss Oxton?”

Lena’s eyes widened. “No way! You’ll get hurt!”

“Don’t worry, Lena,” Angela comforted her, “He fully deserves any pain you inflict.”

“I—I couldn’t!”

“Genji’ll be fine,” Jesse drawled, difficult to see from this angle on top of the roof, as he was directly beneath Genji, but still easy to hear. Even when muttering under his breath, Genji could hear his next words: “Wouldn’t mind if you took a shot at the other brother, too.”

Unaware of Jesse’s dig, Hanzo scoffed. “Miss Oxton’s reluctance is reasonable. I would think that fratricide would not be encouraged in such an organization” 

A sudden quiet fell over the group. Genji’s armor clinked loudly as he slapped his palm to his face. He knew Hanzo only meant that Lena couldn’t be expected to believe such a far-fetched claim, but how could he not realize that they would take his words as a reference to his own _literal_ fratricide? 

As was often the case, Jesse was the one to break the silence.

“Holy shit,” Jesse breathed, gasping for air between raucous laughs. A red flush crawled up Hanzo’s neck at a furious pace, from anger or embarrassment, Genji wasn’t sure. Probably both. “I can’t—” He gasped again. “I can’t believe you said that!”

Genji lifted his katana slightly. “Lena?” 

Perhaps she took to Angela and Jesse’s encouragement, or perhaps she simply wanted to see for herself, but Lena didn’t hesitate this time. A solitary pulse bullet sizzled through the air, colliding with the arc of Genji’s blade. The plasma smashed against the flat of the blade before rebounding entirely, ricocheting on a carefully calculated path into the dirt before Jesse’s feet.

“Shit!” No longer laughing, Jesse glared up at him. “Was that necessary?”

His katana slid soundlessly into his sheath as he stared down at his best friend. “As I said, utmost precision.” Applause broke out through the agents, and Genji bowed graciously.

“If everyone has had their fill of entertainment,” Winston said with amusement, “we can begin the first exercise!”

“Wait, we’re startin’ trainin’ _today_? How do I keep gettin’ left off the distro?”

“Uh, administrative oversight? Sorry, McCree, I’ll make sure you get the message in the future. Okay, everyone in the chute! I’ll activate one of the training modules.” 

Genji dropped from the roof to the ground, jogging excitedly to the range entrance. Winston ambled in a moment after everyone else had assembled. “Alright, red bots are enemy, blue bots are friendly. Athena will be collecting data as we go. Are you with me?” The gorilla looked each agent in the eye, his own sparking in anticipation. “Then let’s go!”


	13. References

Hanzo pulled a chair from the table before taking a seat. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, enjoying the heady scent of tea. Even Brigitte shouting angry German in the kitchen nearby only added to the atmosphere of the morning, rather than interrupting it. Though the liveliness of the Overwatch team initially overwhelmed him, he quickly found comfort in their day to day—wait, shouting? His brows furrowed and eyes snapped back open. 

Brigitte shadowed Reinhardt around the kitchen, passing random bowls and ingredients to her mentor for their breakfast even as she ranted at him in the harsh syllables of his native language. Judging from Reinhardt’s sheepish expression, her anger was well placed, but Hanzo couldn’t discern an immediate cause. Perhaps it was related to Reinhardt’s battered condition? He did not have those bruises yesterday morning. Did the training simulation go poorly? He scooped a bite of rice from his bowl, chewing thoughtfully, and continued to observe.

Genji noisily fell into the chair across from him, disrupting his morning reflections. “I see that they are still fighting,” Genji noted.

Curious that Genji would speak to him in English—and what did he mean, _still_?—Hanzo glanced at his brother in time to see Dr. Ziegler join them. She watched the arguing duo as she sat. 

“Yes,” she said in a monotone, “Brigitte has fair reason to be angry.” She clutched her coffee in both hands, staring sightlessly at her plate of bread and jam. Hanzo hid a smile in his tea. Dr. Ziegler was never one for mornings.

Facial expression under control, Hanzo cleared his throat. “What is the source of their troubles?”

Genji waved his hand about carelessly. “Eh, Reinhardt sort of broke his armor during team practice yesterday.”

Dr. Ziegler glared into her coffee, muttering. “Careless… countless abrasions… running out of skin-seal…” Genji reached for her shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly. Automatically, she lifted her coffee mug higher to keep the liquid from jostling.

Hanzo turned his attention back to Genji, aware that Dr. Ziegler wasn’t far enough in her coffee to properly contribute to the conversation. “How so? What simulation was it?”

“It was Blue Team working on one of the hostage rescue sims. I think it was number two?” Hanzo nodded, mentally scrambling to remember who all was a part of Blue Team. Reinhardt, Winston, Miss Oxton, and… Zenyatta? Or was it Dr. Ziegler? “Winston called for a rather… unusual strategy.”

Ah. “I see. Still no improvement?” 

It was a little more difficult to interpret Dr. Ziegler’s grumbles this time, but Hanzo was fairly sure that it was something along the lines of “two weeks” and “faster to teach fish to fly”, which seemed a little unfair to him, despite his previous statement. Winston had no prior experience in tactical leadership. Even if he wasn’t progressing quite as quickly as they hoped, it wasn’t as though Winston had a deadline. Unless you counted Talon’s ever-increasing list of victims…

Genji shrugged one shoulder. “It actually started out fairly well. He sent Lena in from the flank to harry the enemy bots and sent Reinhardt down the middle, instructing him to charge. The problem was when he ordered her to retreat to Reinhardt’s position at the wrong time. Reinhardt charged, Lena was in the middle of his path, Reinhardt veered into building, Lena jumped off the cliff. It really was not that close of a call because of Lena’s skills, but I think Reinhardt forgot in the excitement and he steered away to keep from steamrolling her.”

Hanzo studied Reinhardt critically as the large man stirred a bowl of batter, noting that while there were many bruises and a few sealed cuts, there were no apparent stitches or broken appendages. “He does not appear to be terribly injured. How did his armor break without hurting himself as well?”

“Remember how I said he crashed into a building?” Genji asked distractedly, his masked face angled at Dr. Zeigler’s breakfast.

“Yes.”

“Reinhardt was fine after the crash. The building was not.” Genji raised his arms up high in a stretch, casually bringing one arm down on Dr. Ziegler’s shoulder as the other reached for a slice of bread.

Hanzo’s brows rose. “The building collapsed?”

Dr. Ziegler slapped Genji’s hand away from her food, still staring at her breakfast. Pouting, he sank low in his chair before addressing the question. “Yes. Reinhardt did not move out of the way in time and was buried beneath the rubble.”

Hanzo’s hand paused halfway to his mouth, pieces of rice falling from his chopsticks back into the bowl. “I had no idea it was so serious. This happened yesterday, you say?” It seemed irresponsible not to inform other agents of serious injuries within the group.

Dr. Ziegler rolled her eyes, caffeine finally working its way through her system. “It was nothing so dramatic. The buildings in the sim are little more than plaster walls over steel skeletons. The issue wasn’t that Reinhardt was buried beneath it, it’s that he somehow managed to pinch the armor.” 

Genji’s free hand was inching to her plate again. She scooted it further away from him without breaking eye contact with Hanzo. 

“I had to send Lena to fetch Lindholm” –Dr. Ziegler’s nose scrunched in distaste—“so he could cut Reinhardt out of his armor. Brigitte was beside herself, going on about how she didn’t have the equipment or funds to properly repair the armor like it was _my _fault Reinhardt broke it. It’s not as though we had a choice. We couldn’t very well leave Reinhardt in his armor forever.” She sullenly bit into a piece of bread. “It’s a miracle that ancient suit lasted this long.” 

Turning the new information over in his mind, Hanzo watched Genji remove his faceplate with detached curiosity. A realization prickled at the back of his mind and he refocused his attention on Dr. Ziegler. “Is this cause for concern? Can Reinhardt battle without his armor?” How could they form a sizeable battle roster if they lost fighters as often as they gained them?

“Well, he could probably still be effective as an offensive force, but we’re losing a critical defensive capability—Genji!” 

Genji chuckled, having successfully snatched the slice of bread from her hand. Dr. Ziegler’s ponytail swung violently as she whirled, angry words ready on her lips, only to come nose-to-nose with her boyfriend. Genji pressed his advantage, stealing a kiss and holding the toast far out of her reach. When he pulled away to eat his spoils, Dr. Ziegler was giggling uncontrollably. Hanzo lifted his tea to his mouth, hiding his own humor and relishing the warmth blossoming in his chest. 

“You absolutely terrible, _ridiculous_” more giggles, “you could have just asked!”

“Yes, but that would not have been nearly as fun,” he teased. “You are too serious in the morning. I like to see you smile.” Genji swallowed the last of his bread and pecked Dr. Ziegler on the cheek before latching his faceplate into place. She blushed lightly and nibbled on her bread with a pleased hum. “I promised to meet Master Zenyatta after breakfast, so I will be going now. Thank you for breakfast, Angela.” She simply smiled. “See you later, _anija_!” 

Hanzo lifted a hand in farewell as Genji darted out of the kitchen.

A companionable silence embraced the breakfast table, the buzz of Brigitte’s wrath providing a pleasant backdrop of white noise. “I am glad that the two of you are speaking again.” Dr. Ziegler said. Surprised to be addressed directly outside of Genji’s presence, Hanzo blinked, unsure of how to respond. “You know, after Zenyatta arrived. I almost thought you had left, it was so hard to find you on the base. Genji was very upset that you were avoiding him.”

Hanzo shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Was she reprimanding him? “I will confess that I was very disquieted with Zenyatta. I was not sure if Genji was angry with me after his mentor’s arrival, so I thought it best to give them time together to avoid… entanglements.” He paused. “I did not mean to cause distress.”

“Well, we were more _worried _than distressed. I’m surprised you don’t get along with Zenyatta. Genji made it sound like the two of you would have a lot in common.”

Hanzo frowned in confusion. “How much could a Nepalese omnic monk and a Japanese mercenary have in common?”

Dr. Ziegler blushed and she nervously pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I, um, my apologies, I thought you were Buddhist.”

Sensing irritation rising in his mind, he reflexively centered on his breathing. One breath. Two breath. “The Shambali are not a school of Buddhism,” he said evenly. 

Dr. Ziegler blinked in surprise, the flush of her embarrassment quickly replaced by the voracious interest of an academic. Before she could ask any questions, however, Brigitte and Reinhardt sat themselves at the table, two large plates of cold meats and bread between them. Brigitte continued to glare at Reinhardt every other bite. 

“Ach, _fraulein_, do not stare at me like that! I am baking cupcakes like you asked.” At least they had the decency to argue in a common tongue when in the company of others. Hanzo made a show of being very interested in his breakfast.

She jabbed a finger in his direction. “That is only the introduction to the beginning of the _prelude _for your apology, Rein! Do you know how many functional Crusader suits are left in the entire world?” 

Reinhardt sighed heavily, morosely mouthing along with Brigitte: “Twenty-nine.”

“That’s right!” She said, tearing apart a piece of bread. “Nineteen of those are in private collections, five of them are in museums, three are still under the control of the German Armed Forces, and two are in the Eichenwald DMZ!” A piece of bread flew out of Brigitte’s wildly gesturing arms and into Hanzo’s face. Nonplussed, he swiped the crumbs out of his trim beard as Brigitte continued her tirade. “I can’t build you another, Rein! That is all we had! It was all we had…” Brigitte frowned at her breakfast and Hanzo was horrified to see liquid gathering at the edge of her eyes.

Reinhardt was similarly distressed. “No! _Fraulein_, do not cry.” He stood and hurried around the table to kneel beside her, still managing to stay eye level thanks to his unreasonable height. “We can solve this, I know we can!” Reinhardt swept Brigitte into a bone-crushing hug, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I swear upon my honor!” Brigitte wriggled in Reinhardt’s grasp, trying to extricate herself. Reinhardt squeezed tighter, apparently mistaking her struggle as an attempt to hug him back. Hanzo shared an alarmed glance with Dr. Ziegler when he heard muffled squeaks.

“Reinhardt!” Dr Ziegler said. “Let her go!”

Startled, Reinhardt dropped her in her chair. Finally free, Brigitte gulped down a lungful of air, wide eyes staring at Reinhardt in askance. Reinhardt scratched the side of his head sheepishly. “Ach, sorry about that, fraulein. My hearing isn’t what it used to be.” 

Hanzo’s eyes flickered between the two, wary of another argument breaking out. Slowly, ever so slowly, Brigitte’s mouth stretched in a wide grin. She snorted and shook her head before returning to her breakfast. Just like that, the spat was over. Reinhardt reseated himself and began eating with gusto, loudly praising the food. 

Bemused with the sudden change in mood, Hanzo turned to Dr. Zeigler to share his humor. Instead of laughing with him, however, Dr. Ziegler tilted her head to the hallway. Interest piqued, Hanzo smoothly scooped up his dishes—grabbing Dr. Zeigler’s plate on the way—depositing the stack in the soapy sink water and ducking out of the kitchen after her. He’d come back to wash the dishes after he sated his curiosity.

No sooner had the door closed behind them than Dr. Zeigler spoke. “As always, your observations cut to the heart of an issue.”

He blinked. “Please forgive me, I do not follow.”

She began walking through the hall at a slow pace, Hanzo matching her stride-for-stride after only a moment’s hesitation. “Reinhardt is not nearly as effective on the battlefield without his armor,” she explained, the friendly and affable tone during breakfast replaced by her usual brisk professionalism. “Brigitte wasn’t exaggerating, either. Repair is beyond her scope of skills. No doubt she’d be able to mend the suit itself to a reasonable level and with Lindholm’s aid, it might even be better than it was before, but as she said, the real issue is the turbine. Even if she had the skill and the blueprints, we don’t have the means to reconstruct one.”

“I do not recall her saying that.” Hanzo frowned, trying to figure out where Dr. Zeigler was leading him on the base. This was not the way to the medical bay.

“It was when I first came into the kitchen. While they were baking.” Ah, right, she spoke German. “But that is why we need to acquire a new suit.”

The only thing in this direction was Winston’s lab… he blinked, mentally reviewing Dr. Zeigler’s statement. “Acquire a new one? Did Miss Lindholm not account for every suit? It did not sound as though any were easily obtainable. I may not be an expert on Crisis-era military technologies, but I doubt there is room in the budget to buy one from a private collection.”

“Ah, but we don’t need to discover a new one and, ideally, we won’t need to buy one, either. We’ll have to talk to Winston about this, however.” 

Confirming Hanzo’s suspicions, she slid open the door to Winston’s lab, stepping into the cool air and calling the scientist’s name. She did not receive a response. 

“That’s odd,” she said. “He’s always in here this time of day…”

Hanzo’s eyes darted about the large space, glossing over the escape capsule hanging from the ceiling and the numerous boards filled with equations. Winston wasn’t at his computer station. Not in his swing tire, not in his nest of blankets in the corner, not in— ah, there he was. Hanzo crossed through the lab space, careful to step over the various cables winding across the floor, until he reached Winston’s lab table. 

The gorilla was slumped on top of the metallic surface, each light snore causing his notes to flutter towards his mouth, only his massive forearm keeping the papers pinned in their place. Several empty jars of peanut butter were strewn across the workspace and nearby on the floor, accompanied by one or two brown banana peels. Hanzo pressed his lips together in distaste.

Dr. Zeigler appeared at his shoulder. “Winston!” No change in his breathing. She shook his arm insistently, but still he did not stir. Muttering lowly in German, Dr. Zeigler worked the papers out from under the sleeping gorilla, managing to pry them all out without tearing any of his notes. “Here, hold this.” 

Without turning to face Hanzo, she passed the papers to him. He barely managed to catch the stack before she let go. Dr. Ziegler bent over Winston, close to his ear, her blonde bangs dangling close to the black fur. 

“This is your last chance, Winston! Wake up!” The light snores continued. “Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She grabbed a half-empty water bottle from the corner of the table, unscrewed the cap, and dumped it on Winston’s face.

“It’s the partial derivative!” Winston shouted, disoriented. Dr. Zeigler set the bottle down and crossed her arms. Winston ran a hand over his head, causing his wet fur to stick up at odd angles. “Uh, good evening.”

“It is morning.” She said accusingly.

Winston swiveled in his chair to look out the bay windows. “Um, yes, empirical evidence seems to agree with you.” He blinked several more times and squinted. Dr. Zeigler primly cleared her throat and held out his glasses. “Oh, thanks.”

Several beats of silence passed. Winston couldn’t sit still, turning his head about, looking at everything and anything other than Dr. Ziegler. He only made it about eleven seconds before he accidentally caught her eye. 

“Why are you sleeping at your desk, Winston? I’ve told you how bad it is for you! And you promised me that you would cut back on the peanut butter!”

“I, uh, just got lost in my work is all.” He grinned up at her self-consciously before looking around at his workspace. “And, uh, in my defense, I did _not _eat all of these in one night.”

Hanzo tuned out their bickering, well aware that this was a regular argument between the two and was furthermore uninterested in Winston’s cholesterol levels. He looked down at the notes in his arms, idly wondering if he could remember any calculus from his schooling. He had always been better at geometry. Instead of a list of undecipherable equations, however, the pages were covered in spreadsheets and tables. He squinted at them, holding the page out a little further, willing the shapes to resolve into readable numbers. He had seen this type of report before, though it had been years.

“—if you cared as much about your health as you do your experiments! When is the last time you had an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep?”

Hanzo cleared his throat. Dr. Zeigler glared indignantly at the interruption, but Winston looked ready to kiss him. He tried not to shudder at the mental image. “Pardon me, Dr. Zeigler, I did not mean to be rude. Winston, are you trying to manage all of Overwatch by yourself?”

Winston frowned. “Well, yes, of course. I initiated the Recall, after all, it is my responsibility.”

Hanzo held up the reports. “Before my father died, I was in charge of the administrative branch of the Shimada-gumi. I had an entire team dedicated to managing the financial state of the clan and a separate team that handled personnel and yet another that handled logistics. You mean to say that not only do you fill the roles of leader and recruiter, but also staff and scientist?”

Winston reached for a jar of peanut butter distractedly, frowning in disappointment when he discovered it was empty. “It’s not as amazing as you make it sound. I’m sure Overwatch isn’t nearly as big as your gang.” Hanzo’s eye twitched, but he suppressed the need to educate Winston.

Mostly thanks to Dr. Ziegler, who spoke over his lecture about the difference between a gang and a Yakuza clan. “Is this why you’ve been sleeping so little? Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“That’s because I don’t need help. Besides, it’s my responsibility!” Winston tossed another empty peanut butter jar at the trash can. He missed.

Dr. Ziegler unfolded her arms, placing her hands on her hips instead. “Really? Tell me, what day is it?”

“Uh,” Winston turned to look for his tablet, but Dr. Ziegler cut his search short by snatching it out of his reach.

“No cheating!”

“Er, August…sixth?”

She returned the tablet triumphantly. “It is the eighth of August.”

“I was close!”

Hanzo interrupted before the bickering could begin in earnest. “Your efforts, while worthwhile and admirable, are unsustainable. Would you not consider spreading the duties amongst the Overwatch team?”

“No.” Winston shook his head, strands of fur flying out and floating to the floor. “Absolutely not. I initiated this Recall. I knew what I was getting into when I pressed that button, and I intend to see it through.”

Dr. Ziegler made a frustrated noise in her throat. “You can lead without involving yourself in every single detail. Do you think I managed _all _the paperwork and monitored _all _the patients at Numbani National?”

“That’s completely different.”

“It is not at all different!” She rebutted. “You are micromanaging, Winston, and you are suffering for it!” Winston opened his mouth to retort but she did not allow him the opportunity. “What happens if you fall ill?” Winston rolled his eyes. “What if you are injured? How will Overwatch survive when you are the only one who knows how to hold the helm? Systems need redundancy!”

“There’s only ten of us. You’re exaggerating a non-existent problem. If it makes you feel better, I can look into creating manuals for any successors.”

Dr. Ziegler gritted her teeth. “I’m trying to get you to do less work, not _more_.”

This discussion was not going well. “There are only ten of us now,” Hanzo interjected diplomatically, “but if we have any hope of expanding the current roster, then we will need to delegate. I am sure that you would have volunteers if you only asked.” Winston rubbed his chin in consideration but did not respond. Perhaps a small bit of flattery. “We all appreciate what you have done for Overwatch, allow us to show our gratitude in return.”

“Well…” Winston breathed out heavily before sitting back in his chair. “I suppose I’ll bring it up at the weekly meeting. We’ll put it through a trial phase and then reconvene on the matter.” Winston’s yellow eyes zeroed in on Hanzo. “Can I have my notes back?”

“Oh,” Hanzo thrust the papers forward into Winston’s waiting hands. “Of course.”

Winston opened a drawer beneath the table to leave the papers. The first drawer was full of miscellaneous office supplies so he closed it, but the second had plenty of room even though there were two full jars of peanut butter. “Aha!” he said, excitedly grabbing a jar. Dr. Zeigler hummed in warning. Sighing, Winston closed the drawer. “What’s a social call from Dr. Zeigler without three health lectures?”

“That’s not true,” she objected. “I didn’t lecture you three times, I—” she paused, apparently doing mental math before switching tacks. “This wasn’t a social call at all.”

Winston eased himself off his chair and yawned, displaying a disturbing set of canines easily over five centimeters long. Stretching his limbs, Winston smiled in amusement. “I suppose you planned to accidentally discover my poor sleeping habits?”

“Actually,” Dr. Zeigler said primly, “we originally came to talk about Reinhardt’s armor situation.” 

Hanzo looked between the two, beginning to wonder why Dr. Zeigler had dragged him along at all. He may have assisted in defusing their arguments, but he was sure they would have resolved their differences eventually. Likely in Dr. Ziegler’s favor; She was merciless in pursuit of her goals. However, it was Reinhardt’s armor that initially brought them here, and he didn’t have any idea how to fix Reinhardt’s armor. Perhaps she needed him in case any Talon-related knowledge gaps arise. That seemed most likely.

“The sooner we can resolve it,” she said, “the better. He is a keystone to several of our action teams.” 

How long would this conversation last? He’d rather not stand for the duration. Hanzo glanced around for a chair, but there wasn’t a single horizontal surface clear of research or trash. That wouldn’t do.

Winston groaned unhappily. “I am aware of Reinhardt’s armor problem. I know there’s no chance of refurbishing it. We were both there when Brigitte gave her prognosis, so what more is there to talk about?” 

Hanzo decided to simply sweep the trash off a nearby counter into the bin and use that as a seat, but first he’d have to find a trash bag. Did the Watchpoint have recycling?

“Well, have we looked into securing another suit?” Dr. Zeigler asked. Hanzo paced through the lab, looking for anything that could serve as a trash receptacle.

Winston shook his head and reseated himself on his chair. “From where? The museums aren’t going to sell and I doubt the private collections would, either, if I could even track down the owners. And if they _were _willing to sell, well… I had Athena look up the last known selling price for a suit. Unless you have an extra twenty million euros somewhere, I think it’s safe to say that buying a new suit is easily outside of our budget.” 

Hanzo finally discovered an entire cabinet of cleaning supplies. He nearly smiled in relief but settled for grabbing a large trash bag. Then another. He was _sure _that there must be a recycling center somewhere in Gibraltar.

“What if we didn’t _buy _another suit?” Dr. Zeigler asked. 

Hanzo eyed her curiously as he sorted the scrap paper and trash into each bag. She never struck him as one to engage in unethical behavior. That was Genji’s domain.

Winston appeared to agree. “Dr. Zeigler, are you suggesting we steal one? I know we’re not a legal organization, but our purpose is to help reduce crime, not cause it.”

“I’m not sure if I would categorize it as ‘stealing’. After all, no one’s claimed this suit in nearly twenty years.” 

As he sorted the last of the trash on the counter, Hanzo’s hand brushed against the metallic surface beneath, thoroughly repulsed to discover a sticky substance covering the entire counter.

“It would be more like,” Dr. Zeigler paused, looking around the lab for inspiration. “Ah! A recovery operation. Yes, we are going to lead a mission to recover an unclaimed Crusader Suit.”

“Unclaimed? You’re not implying—oh, you are. You’re talking about,” a shrill squeak interrupted him. “Uh, Mr. Shimada? What are you doing?” 

Hanzo froze, one hand halfway through squeezing a very noisy spray bottle, the other scrubbing fiercely at a stubborn stain. He stood at his full height, projecting a regal mien despite his mundane activity.

“I am cleaning.”

Winston looked baffled. “Why?”

Hanzo placed his rag on the counter, which promptly slid from the soapy surface to the floor. He glared at it before replying defensively. “It was dirty.” He waited until the two returned to their conversation before bending to retrieve his wash cloth. When he lifted it from the floor, he could only stare in horror. Were these tiles supposed to be _white_?

“Think about it Winston, the Eichenwald DMZ has been on lockdown for two decades. If no one’s claimed those suits by now, we might as well make use of them.”

“You seem to be glossing over the fact that the reason no one has claimed the suits is because Eichenwald was never properly decontaminated. I don’t think they ever even managed to extract the, er, casualties.”

“What? That’s ridiculous, they evacuated the casualties in the first week after the battle. It’s beside the point. Perhaps originally the German government didn’t launch any recovery teams for the suits because of the radiation, but that hasn’t been a factor since they memorialized the battlefield three years ago.” Hanzo looked up from cleaning his third table. Didn’t he refuse a job in Eichenwald two years ago because of the health hazards? “I know that they interred the few bodies they found and—”

“How do you know?” Hanzo asked.

“Pardon?”

“Where did you learn that Eichenwald is no longer radioactive? None of my sources indicated such an event.” His unspoken questions: _Is this related to Blackwatch? Why did you not warn me before we approached Winston?_ They had long ago established an easy pattern of discussing a bit of information and following it with the source, simply to ensure that the authenticity was never called into question. It was unlike her to deviate from those methods, but perhaps it had merely slipped her mind.

Dr. Zeigler drew back slightly, thrown off-balance as if she were surprised. “I—I thought it was common knowledge.”

Suspicion flared to life in Hanzo’s chest. That was not the expected response. “Not even Winston is aware,” he pointed out. “Clearly, it is not so commonly known.” 

She could have cited her Blackwatch medic years to satisfy Winston if—except, no that would not work. Blackwatch fell seven years ago. Did she keep in contact with Blackwatch operatives other than Genji? In the meetings she made it sound as though she kept her head low in the years after Overwatch…

“Well, does Winston monitor every news source in Germany? I was not aware he spoke German.”

Not appreciative of being referred to in third person, Winston spoke up. “That would be because I don’t—”

Dr. Ziegler spoke over him. “Although, now that I think about it, I’m fairly sure that I first learned of it through a medical journal detailing the aftercare of the recovery team.” She turned her icy gaze to Winston. “How thoroughly do you analyze quarterly medical publications in Europe?”

“Uh, not very often, although I suppose I could ask Athena to—”

She shook her head in annoyance. “_I_ work for you now, Winston, it would be redundant to have Athena review the same articles as I do. Not to mention unnecessary. Athena’s processing power would be better served unencrypting the Antarctica files. How is that coming along, by the way?”

Winston blinked, overwhelmed at the rapid speech. “I, uh, Athena last reported to be roughly forty percent complete, although there are some complications—”

“Ach! We are getting distracted. So, are we going to launch a mission to Eichenwald?” Hanzo opened his mouth to question her source again when she caught his attention and widened her eyes meaningfully. Fine. He would interrogate her outside of Winston’s presence.

Suddenly looking very tired, Winston sagged in his seat. “I suppose. Are you volunteering to lead the mission?”

“Ah, no,” she said, blushing. “I think it would be more prudent to assign one of the team leaders. It would be a wonderful training opportunity!”

“I’ll remember to bring it up next meeting, then.”

Dr. Ziegler deflated. “Next meeting? That’s not until Sunday.”

“If you would recall from the last meeting,” Winston said dryly, “Lena still isn’t scheduled to return from her visit home until Sunday morning. There’s no sense in moving up a meeting when our pilot won’t be here to transport the team.”

“Oh. Right, of course.” Momentum lost, Dr. Ziegler smiled shyly. “Do take care of yourself, Winston. We all care for you. We don’t want to see you collapse on our behalf.”

“Or from a viral infection,” Hanzo muttered, glaring at the ostensibly brown tiles. Wolves could _feast _on the dust bunnies hiding under these tables.

Winston rolled his eyes. “If I promise to take a nap, would you leave me in peace?”

“Of course. I’ll be checking on you tomorrow, though! Do try to eat something other than peanut butter.” 

Winston grunted noncommittally as Dr. Ziegler departed from the labs. Keen to extract answers from her, Hanzo followed, tossing the rag into the cleaning closet on his way out, but Winston’s voice caught him at the door.

“Mr. Shimada!” 

He deliberated between pursuing Dr. Ziegler and addressing Winston only for a moment. After all, it was a small base. She would be simple to find.

“Yes, Winston?”

“Um, thanks for cleaning up.” The gorilla rubbed his arms sheepishly. “I never seem to find the time.”

Hanzo bowed slightly at the waist. “If you ever need assistance, do not hesitate to count me among your friends. And, please, call me Hanzo.”

Winston smiled for the first time during their entire exchange. “Thank you, Hanzo.” Hanzo returned the gesture with his own restrained smile before turning on his heel and leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this one! The hotel's wifi was down. Regular Saturday postings will resume.
> 
> 04NOV: I've had the same question across a couple platforms so allow me to clarify: Brigitte is multilingual. She knows her native Swedish, English, and German. :)


	14. Rifles

For the fifth time that week, Jesse found himself in the shooting range. He didn’t really mean to end up in there, but every evening after dinner he stepped outside for a smoke and he ended up with a gun in his hand instead. 

Jesse had successfully petitioned Winston to order a hundred rounds of ammo for Peacekeeper, but they hadn’t arrived yet so he wasn’t exactly practicing with his favorite weapon. Not that Jesse would be digging into the munition if it _had _arrived—he was gonna make that shit last the rest of the year, _at least_. There were much cheaper and more combat-effective weapons on base and Peacekeeper was better suited as a last stand weapon than anything else. That was why, just like every other day this week, Jesse was methodically inspecting, shooting, and cleaning every single weapon in the arms room. 

If he was familiar with the model, the process took about thirty minutes per weapon. If he wasn’t, he made a mental note to look up the technical manual for it the next day. He’d been doing four a night so far, but he figured he might stay late tonight since it was Friday. No morning PT on Saturdays and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyway.

He punched in the code on the cipher lock and stepped through the doorway, breathing in the dusty atmosphere. Flipping the switch, the overhead lights flickered on reluctantly. Better put in an order for new lightbulbs while he was it_._ Jesse’s eyes skimmed over the weapon racks before picking up where he left off last night with the assault rifles and counting off the remaining weapons in the room. Roughly twenty. The arms room wasn’t as well stocked as it was before the Fall. Hell, the heaviest weapons in here were a pair of SAWs. It made sense that Gibraltar wouldn’t maintain anything more serious than the light machine guns, but Jesse couldn’t help find it disappointing all the same. Of course, even if they did have something cool like a .50 cal, there wasn’t a long range for miles around. He picked up the next assault rifle in the row.

The metal chair scraped shrilly against the cement floor as Jesse seated himself at the folding table in the arms room. He placed his hat upside down on the table and took the rifle in both hands before he let muscle memory take over his motions. 

Pull back the bolt, clear, pop the pin, shotgun the handle, remove the bolt. 

He dug a nail under the firing pin retainer to drag it out from place and tossed it into his hat before continuing on the rest of the bolt. Upending the bolt carrier, the firing pin fell into his palm. Into the hat. 

Quarter twist, half twist, pluck the cam pin, separate the bolt from the carrier. Into the hat. 

He pressed his nail into the button to free the spring from the buttstock and then began his examination. Whoever the armorer was before Petras shut down the Watchpoint had taken their job seriously and also had the foresight to store the weapons dry. Even after nine years with no regular use or maintenance, all the weapons needed in the way of maintenance was a generous coating of lubricant. Still, he took the time to visually inspect all of the rifle’s parts as he lubed up the internal mechanics, careful to note any warping or defect that might cause a malfunction. He reassembled it quickly and performed a functions check, listening for the gratifying _thunk _on each pull of the trigger.

Satisfied with his work, Jesse grabbed ten rounds of 5.56 and an empty magazine, loading it as he entered the shooting range. Habit lead him to lane four, where he adjusted the iron sights to what the previous three rifles had done best for him. Lastly, he stuffed each ear with ear plugs before settling the buttstock against the crook of his right shoulder.

_Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop_. 

He flipped the safety, lowered the muzzle, and tapped the screen embedded in the partition on his left. The grouping was tight and dead center, minimal vertical movement from inattentive breathing, but ultimately satisfactory. Not interested in wasting ammo after validating on the first try, Jesse dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber, his feet carrying him back to the arms room. Cleaning kit already on the table, muscle memory once again took over as Jesse disassembled the weapon. Hands occupied, his mind wandered.

A month and a half. That’s as long as he’s been with the new Overwatch and already he was feeling the pressure to move building like a distant thundercloud on the horizon. There were only a handful of instances where he stayed in one town for longer than a few months while he was on the run, and for each one of those instances there was a damn good reason for it. Anytime he accepted the risk of holding tight, it was with a purpose in mind-- and he was starting to lose sight of what he was hanging around the Watchpoint for. 

Originally, he wasn’t supposed to stay at all. He wasn’t even supposed to show up, but he ignored his better sense for a misplaced feeling of debt, as if he owed Overwatch. He didn’t owe Overwatch shit. Not a god damned cent. There were _people _he owed and some of them happened to wear the Overwatch uniform at one time, but that was as far as it went. Genji was one of them.

He didn’t think he could ever absolve his debt to Genji, not after the way he abandoned him back in the day. Genji was his responsibility, his duty, his brother, and he didn’t even look back when he ran from Blackwatch. At the time, he thought it would be easier for Genji, that disappearing overnight without a trace, without a note, without a single sign he had ever existed, would help Genji move on. He thought that maybe Genji would think he died. Thought that maybe Genji would resent him enough to _hope _Jesse died. What an idiot he was. Should have known Genji was too much of a little shit to obey his expectations. Now, he wouldn’t leave unless Genji damn well _told _him to. That determination wasn’t enough to soothe his restless spirit, though. 

The first few weeks it was easier, because Hanzo had still been a clear threat, an easy way to occupy his time and mind, but he fucked that up when he accepted the truce. A whole month gradually and begrudgingly accepting Hanzo as a permanent fixture in Genji’s life, a whole month losing sight of Hanzo’s original sin, a whole month of his stupid, fucking delicious cooking. 

Jesse ran a thumb behind the waistline of his jeans, appreciating that they didn’t hang as loosely as even a week ago. Yeah, Hanzo might still be a dick, but he wasn’t an enemy. Yesterday, Jesse had gone to Winston’s lab to check in on his ammo shipment and found Hanzo in there with him. At first, Jesse thought that he was passing on new Talon information, but that was before he actually _looked _at Hanzo. The normally conservatively dressed man had his long sleeves pushed up to the elbows and sweatpants pulled up to the knee, although there were long socks beneath. A dust mask shielded the lower half of his face, leaving only his glaring eyes visible. 

And he was mopping. 

_Mopping_. Who the hell joins a clandestine international vigilante team with malicious intent to fucking _mop the scientist’s floor?_

The rifle now thoroughly clean and reassembled, Jesse stood to switch it out with another rifle. Only three more of these to go until he could move on to the few plasma weapons in stock. They were all very early models; The latest and greatest on the inventory were sold to the highest bidder after the Fall and these ancient, twenty year old models probably didn’t even work anymore. One of the many advantages of good ol’ fashioned mechanical weapons over plasma tech, he supposed. One of the many reasons he’d be using these rifles if they ever went on an actual mission. 

Pull back the bolt, clear, pop the pin, shotgun the handle, remove the bolt.

Still, what would he do if Genji decided that he didn’t want him hanging around anymore? Would he leave? It’s not like he had anything else keeping him tied to Gibraltar. This had easily been the best month he’s had in a while: good friends, good food, _great _water pressure. He hadn’t had to fight his way out of a town once and no bounty hunters had come knocking on his door. It was easy living. The insight soothed him some; as the saying goes, gotta know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. He had a good setup here. Sure, it was boring and he was itching to get off base, but on the other hand, boring meant safe. He could use safe. 

Functions check. _Thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk-thunk_. Back into the hall, lane four, ear plugs in.

Overwatch has the same problem, now that he’s thinking about it. No mission, no purpose, no greater aim. Just a vague sense that it’s better to be here than not. _Pop_. They don’t have the skill or numbers to go directly after Talon. _Pop_. They can’t interfere with the Russian Crisis. _Pop_. Not without exposing themselves in the process. _Pop_. Just sitting here waiting for the slaughter. _Pop_. 

He narrowed his eyes at the display screen. Passable grouping, but he’d need to adjust the sights both horizontally and vertically to center it. Jesse cleared the rifle, pulling out his pocket knife to adjust the sight posts. Would’ve been better to use proper tools, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

This time when he rested his cheek on the buttstock, he focused. He sighted down the barrel like he taught himself. Steadied his breathing like his sister taught. Squeezed the trigger like Amari. Dead center like Reyes. _Pop_. _Pop_. _Pop_. _Pop_. An itching sensation filled his nose, the urge to sneeze rising. He removed his finger from the trigger well to sneeze away from his weapon, knowing from experience that he was better off getting it out of the way. Shaking his head, Jesse lowered his cheek to the rifle, shuffling a bit until he was confident that his sight picture was the same. _Pop_. Safety on, he turned to the screen as he dropped the mag. All of the shots were dead center, one on top of another. Grinning in satisfaction, he returned to the arms room.

Absorbed in stripping down the rifle, he almost didn’t hear the door open. If he still had the ear plugs in, then he certainly wouldn’t have noticed, but as it was the creak of steel hinges carried through to the arms room. Who was visiting the range this time of night? Lena was still visiting her girlfriend in London and Jesse was pretty sure Genji was occupied with Angela. Maybe Winston was looking for him? Curious, he set the bolt carrier back on the table and wiped the carbon on his hands with his cleaning rag before stepping into the main hall, only to stop in the doorway. 

Maybe all the methodical cleaning and the meditative nature of shooting had mellowed him out. Maybe he spent too much of the night being introspective. Maybe he was just losing his touch, but when he realized it was Hanzo in lane three, his back to him and pulling out the pieces of his bow from its carrier, Jesse didn’t call him out. He didn’t lead in with a belittling greeting, a biting remark, or even a backhanded compliment. Instead, he leaned against the doorjamb and watched.

Hanzo assembled his bow in silence, attaching each limb to the body and stringing it. He made quite a show of inspecting the thin cord, though Jesse hadn’t the faintest idea of what he could be looking for. Hanzo dug through his bag for a moment before retrieving four arrows, setting three on the counter in front of him and notching the fourth. He held up the bow, but did not draw, apparently just sighting. Idly, Jesse wondered whether eye or hand dominance was more important in archery. There was a noisy sigh before Hanzo lowered the bow and turned to face him.

“I thought you were past the staring.” 

Not feeling up to faking embarrassment at being caught, Jesse just shrugged. Hanzo watched him with exasperation, clearly expecting Jesse to verbally attack him. The exasperation shifted to distrust and then to confusion as the silence stretched longer and longer.

Eventually, Hanzo turned back to the target. 

Jesse studied him as he pulled at the bow, amazed to see such a stiff and unforgiving length of carbon fiber bend beneath Hanzo’s will. Almost as soon as the bow reached full draw, he released, the arrow flying away with a soft _snick_. Jesse couldn’t see whether or not Hanzo hit the target from this angle, but he was content to wait until Hanzo had finished his round before analyzing his shot group. As Hanzo reached for his second arrow, Jesse observed that his hand was gloved with black leather, although the two smallest fingers were cut out. Was it for better grip? Scrutinizing Hanzo’s motions as he drew back a second time (_snick_), Jesse decided that his guess was correct. 

Vaguely, he wished he could see Hanzo’s face while he fired. Did he close one eye? Both eyes open? _Snick_. Did it matter? How did he aim at a distance? What was his maximum firing range? Where was the best place to shoot a target with an arrow? Was there enough force to clear through the body, _snick_, or did it lodge itself in the bone and sinew? Why did he only use a plasma rifle during training exercises rather than this bow? Didn’t Genji say that he and his brother both learned the art of the sword? Wouldn’t Hanzo be similarly skilled with a sword if that were the case? Why settle for distance combat _snick_?

“Are you ill?” 

Jesse blinked, emerging from his mental withdrawal, suddenly aware that Hanzo was staring at him again. Jesse raised his brows. 

Taking it as an invitation to expound, Hanzo continued: “You have never allowed silence to linger when talking would do.”

Jesse chuckled and pushed himself off the doorway, walking up to lane three, leaning past a perturbed Hanzo to tap on the panel. Two arrows protruded from the target’s head, where eyes might be on a living person and the other three were all closely arrayed on the chest. Jesse whistled. “Pretty handy with that bow.” 

Hanzo only stared, expression caught somewhere between affronted and horrified. 

Raising his hands up and retreating a few steps from the archer, Jesse smiled wryly. “Easy there, didn’t know you were so sensitive to compliments.”

Hanzo scoffed. “I must be hallucinating. Jesse McCree does not deliver compliments.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. Anyone on base would tell you I’m a charmin’ guy.”

“Perhaps anyone who is not me would agree.” Hanzo tapped his way through the panel, activating the pulley system that brought the target to the front.

“Yeah, I’ve been an ass to you.”

Hanzo snorted, pulling his arrows from the target’s backing. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

Jesse smirked. “I’d have to be sorry for it to be an apology. Nah, I’m just acknowledgin’ how I’ve been actin’.”

One arrow was stubbornly embedded in the target and Hanzo was wiggling it up and down, trying to extract it without damaging the arrowhead. “Is this your new hobby? Pretending to be nice? For what purpose? I know that you hate me still. I am not deceived.”

Jesse returned to his post on the doorway, leaning back and propping one foot on the wall. “Hate’s a strong word.”

“And yet I do not feel mistaken in using it.”

“Maybe you should.”

Hanzo looked behind him, still trying to unearth his last arrow, eyes incredulous. “Are you nothing more than a stray dog? I feed you and now I have a mutt’s loyalty?”

“Hey now, I object to that!”

“What, do you imagine yourself to be a pedigree hound? Allow me to guess. Malinois?”

“Huh? Nah, no doubt in my mind that I’d be a mangy mutt. I meant the loyalty. At most it’s a very strong preference that you don’t die anytime soon. Did anyone ever tell you that you could open up a five star restaurant?”

“You would be my only customer.” With a final tug, the arrow pulled free from the target.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Hanzo, busy peering closely at his arrow for damage, didn’t bother looking up. “That is indeed how I meant it.”

“Damn, don’t spare my feelin’s none.”

“That was my intention, yes.” 

Jesse couldn’t help it. He started laughing. Without really knowing why, it began as a small chuckle, but at the sight of Hanzo’s indignant face he could only laugh harder. After a moment of shocked silence, Hanzo turned his head to the side with a huff. There was no fooling Jesse, though, he saw his mouth twitch in a smile. Jesse wiped the moisture from his eyes.

“Ah, I needed that. Thanks for the laugh, Han.”

“Han?” 

Shit, had he offended him? Angela always got pissy about nicknames, too. He shortens everybody’s name, it wasn’t anything personal! He looked over at Hanzo, but he seemed bemused rather than angry. Oh, good. A fight would’ve really dampened his good mood.

“Han, Hanzo, whatever.”

Hanzo smirked. “Is two syllables too much for you?”

“Har-har. You gonna be in here much longer? I’ve been inventoryin’ the arms room and testin’ all the weapons. You’ll need ear pro if you don’t plan on visitin’ Doc. Fair warnin’, she _hates _treatin’ tinnitus.”

“Ear pro?”

“Yeah, ear protection. Y’know, keeps your ears from ringin’.”

Jesse swore he could see Hanzo filing away the new phrase in his mental dictionary. “Ah. I thought “pro” meant expert.”

“It does, I was just shortenin’ ‘protection’ to ‘pro’. It might be a military thing, I don’t know where I picked up half the words in my vocabulary.”

“That seems to be the case for your entire language.”

Chuckle. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth.”

“You said Dr. Ziegler dislikes treating tinnitus?” 

Jesse thought it was odd that out of the whole ‘please get out so I can get back to work or put in some damn ear plugs’ conversation, _that _was what Hanzo picked out of it. Generous soul he was, he answered anyway.

“Yeah, she gets real mean about it. Almost as mean as she gets about my smokin’. Says it’s a waste of resources for a self-inflicted injury or some such.”

“I see.” Hanzo was downright stalling now, putting his arrows away one at a time, carefully inspecting each one. What was he working up to? Not turning away from his task, Hanzo continued to study his arrows when he spoke. “Do you know of Eichenwald?”

“Eichenwald?” He tried racking his brain, but all it could provide him was a hazy memory filled with companionable cheers, the taste of beer, and… bratwurst? “Uh, no, can’t say that I do.”

Hanzo glanced up sharply. Jesse didn’t understand his reaction. Was he concerned? Angry? “It was a German town, one of the last to fall in the Crisis. It was declared radioactive. Surely you know something?”

“Oh, the one where they lost the Crusader Battalion! I know a little bit, I s’pose. Mostly from Reinhardt’s stories.” Which would explain why the memory was so hazy. And also the bratwurst. 

“Why?”

“I heard a rumor that it is no longer radioactive.” Hanzo said this with a strange inflection, as if he was trying to emphasize some hidden significance. Jesse had no idea what he was driving at.

“Really? I thought that they weren’t gonna let anyone test it for a few more years.”

“As did I.” Hanzo returned his attention to his bow, carefully unstringing it. “So, Blackwatch had no interest in Eichenwald?”

How the fuck was he supposed to know? It’s not like they ran every mission past him before teams went after them and god only knew what the intel shop tracked. “Well, it’s not like I know everything about Blackwatch, but I can’t imagine why we’d care about it. There’s nothin’ of interest there.”

Hanzo snapped his bow’s case shut. “Except for two Crusader suits.”

“What? Really? Does Winston know about this?” This could solve a large chunk of their problems, why would Hanzo just sit on this kind of informa--

“Yes, Dr. Ziegler and I informed him earlier this week.”

Oh. “Well then why were you pickin’ my brain about it?”

“I was not sure if there might be any Blackwatch-related information I could be passing on to Winston.”

Jesse’s brows knit together, suspicion and confusion warring for dominance. “I’m sure Doc would’ve mentioned it.”

Hanzo shrugged casually. “It never hurts to be certain.” Jesse continued to study him, as if he had suddenly gained the power to see into a man’s soul in the past three minutes. Apparently unfazed, Hanzo shouldered his bow case and took a step forward before pausing. “Can I assist you in inventorying?”

The newest flare of suspicion quickly died as Jesse’s inner opportunist cackled. “Well, I think that would depend.”

Blissfully unaware of Jesse’s less-than-benign intentions, Hanzo indulged in a sardonic smile. “On what?”

Jesse swept his arm towards the back wall of the arms room, where an entire rack of weapons rested. It was the one rack that Jesse had aggressively avoided so far, saving the most work-intensive, least rewarding, and probably non-functioning weapons for last. A feral grin split across his face, delighted when Hanzo’s expression shifted from pleased to guarded. 

“How good are you at cleanin’ plasma weapons?”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Good evening, everyone!” Winston shouted from the head of the table, effectively silencing the other agents and officially beginning their weekly meeting. “I hope everyone had a great weekend.” 

Hanzo scowled deeply, rubbing his thumb along the small burns on his hands. Across the table, he could see McCree grinning wolfishly. Fifteen plasma weapons this weekend. _Fifteen_. McCree had disappeared after the fifth, abandoning Hanzo to finish cleaning the weapons in silence. The silence he didn’t mind, the shorted circuitry in the rifles he _did_.

“Excellent. First order of business, welcome back to the Watchpoint, Lena!” 

Lena grinned, waving at the table. For the sake of friendliness, Hanzo attempted to smile in return. Considering her uneasy expression, he could guess that he was less than successful. 

Addressing the group at large, Winston continued. “Remember, if you need to leave the Watchpoint for business or family needs you are perfectly within rights to do so, but I would also appreciate a heads-up so I can plan around your absence. I’m tracking that Mr. Lindholm will be taking vacation soon?”

Torbjörn nodded. “Aye, twenty-fifth anniversary with the wife. I’ll be gone until September. If you have any mechanical problems with the base, Brigitte can handle it. If you need to call me, don’t.”

“Uh, okay. Anyone else planning on taking leave?” 

No response. Hanzo supposed it made sense. There wasn’t much reason to leave this early into the Recall. August didn’t really have any large holidays, and most of Overwatch felt comfortable enough here at the Watchpoint. He glanced at Genji, sitting beside him, and wondered if his brother would ever get around to planning that romantic retreat with Dr. Ziegler. 

“Alright. Next point of order, staffing.” Winston removed his glasses and leaned back in his oversized chair. “It has been brought to my attention that Overwatch could be much more efficient if I didn’t _ahem _‘hoard the administrative duties like I hoard peanut butter’.” On the other side of a snickering Genji, Dr. Ziegler maintained a mask of innocent interest. “So, if anyone would like to volunteer their services, please let me know.”

“Well,” Lena twirled her stylus thoughtfully. “What did you have in mind, big guy?”

“Uh, well, someone to help me budget or plan operations with me would be great. I’m already using Athena to keep track of most things on base, including schedules and finances, so it’s not really a critical need—“

“Winston,” Dr. Ziegler said warningly. “It _is _a critical need.”

“_Yes_, Dr. Ziegler,” he grumbled. “Well, I’ve never really organized an administrative staff before. I have some ideas, but I’m also open to suggestions.”

“We could follow a military model!” Reinhardt said. Hanzo nodded silently, sure that using a Yakuza framework would be frowned upon, no matter how effective it was. However a military organized its staff would likely be sufficient.

Winston slid his glasses back on, stylus poised above his tablet. “Um, what exactly does that entail?”

“That’d depend on the size of the unit,” McCree said, leaning back in his chair with his hat in his hand. If only Hanzo had seated himself closer to the irritating man, he could have nudged his chair just enough to tip it over. “For the record, you can count this as my contribution because ain’t no way in hell I’m doin’ staff time again.” 

Hanzo huffed quietly. _Lazy_. 

“Anyway, we’re the size of a squad, but we have the logistical need of a company and we don’t have the support units to provide that. Normally, the staff’s divided up into shops, so we’ve got personnel, which handles leave and pay and such. Intel, which we can probably leave in Athena’s hands—uh, servers—operations, which means plannin’ current and future missions with an overall strategy. Supply defines itself, of course. Commo, the communications section that handles secure channels and makin’ sure we can talk. And uh, let’s see I know I’m forgettin’ one…” He snapped his fingers. “Maintenance!”

Winston nodded as he scribbled notes on his tablet. “This seems like a good base to start from. Can anyone think of any other positions that we might need?”

“Perhaps I could officially take a post as Overwatch chaplain?” Zenyatta suggested.

“Of course! Thank you, Zenyatta.”

Dr. Ziegler raised her hand. “I must insist that medical operations remain separate from the day-to-day operations. I maintain my own inventory of medical supplies and all records are confidential. I can forward any supply requests that use Overwatch funds through whoever volunteers to be the supply officer, but I’d much rather keep oversight of my practice.”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Winston agreed.

“Of course you do,” Torbjörn muttered sourly. There were a couple of murmurs around the table and Brigitte rolled her eyes. Dr. Ziegler and Torbjörn’s enmity was still very much alive.

Winston sighed. “Is there anything you’d like to add, Torbjörn?”

“Yes, divvying up the staff is all well and good, but who will watch over them?”

“I don’t think that the staff will need anyone to hold their hand,” Winston said evenly. “We are all adults here and volunteers on top of that. I’m sure everyone will do their part.”

“It’s not about capability,” Torbjörn insisted, “it’s coordination and accountability. The supply officer will need to know from the personnel officer how many agents will be at the Watchpoint in a given month so they can order the right amount of food.”

“He has a point!” Reinhardt exclaimed. “A staff is headed up by an executive officer, the second in command to the commanding officer.”

“Okay, then I’ll add those positions to the list.” Winston looked down at his tablet. “I think we have more positions than we do people.”

Down the table, McCree had pulled his hat low over his face, either ignoring the conversation or napping. Hanzo smirked. “Perhaps McCree would not mind doubling up on a position?” McCree flipped his hat up, mouth agape. It was difficult to keep the laughter out of his voice. “I am sure that as a veteran member, he could bring valuable experience.”

McCree pointed at him menacingly. “You shut your mouth!”

“So, what are we looking at, big guy?” Lena interrupted cheerfully.

“Uh, let’s see, we have commanding officer and executive officer… I think I’ll keep those positions. They’re pretty similar and it would help the transition for everyone going into a new role if I was there to guide the process. Uh, unless there are any objections?” No one seemed willing to step into the role themselves, so there was a round of nods and indifferent shrugs. “Then we have medical officer and chaplain as positions that are also already filled by Dr. Ziegler and Zenyatta, respectively. I guess I’ll keep intel with Athena and myself?”

Dr. Ziegler had her fingers pressed to her temples. “Winston, the point of building a staff is so you’d have _fewer _responsibilities.

“It’d mostly be Athena! I just have to read her reports every day.”

“I swear I will have her monitor your sleep schedule if you start slipping, do not think that I won’t!”

“I promise I’ll get help if it gets bad, but honestly, Dr. Ziegler, it’s one of my favorite parts about running Overwatch. It’s no trouble.”

Dr. Ziegler nodded briskly. “I am only giving you fair warning.”

“Right, okay, so the positions left available are personnel officer, operations, supply, comms, and maintenance.”

“Well, I’m already doing maintenance,” Torbjörn said. “So you could just make it official.”

Winston frowned. “But you’re going on leave.”

“Brigitte’s my deputy mechanic. The way this dump is falling apart, it’s a two-person job anyway.”

“Alright. Anyone else?” 

Hanzo straightened in his seat, mentally encouraging himself to take the personnel job. He probably had more experience than anyone else in this room thanks to his duties in the clan. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath--

“If no one objects, I would be happy to assist as personnel officer.” Zenyatta volunteered.

“You are already chaplain,” Hanzo protested.

Zenyatta inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I feel that involving myself in the daily lives of Overwatch would only serve to benefit my duties as chaplain, and vice versa.”

“Very well.” Hanzo said reluctantly. He didn’t want to challenge Zenyatta further. Even if he was the more qualified candidate, he did not want to give Genji the impression that he held a grudge against his mentor. “Then I would like to volunteer as supply officer.”

“Excellent! We are only missing a communications officer right now. Any takers?” 

Hanzo shook his head, content to do his supply job to the best of his ability. Not to mention, he had no expertise in networks or secure channels or whatever it was a communications officer handled. Everyone else seemed to share similar sentiments, for no one spoke into the silence for a good minute. 

“Well, this is a good start anyway. As long as we don’t break what we already have for comms, I think we should be fine. So, the only thing we have left on the agenda is Reinhardt’s armor.”

Reinhardt promptly hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Brigitte crossed her arms defensively. “What about it?”

“Well, as you said, Brigitte, it’s non-mission capable. So I’ve been looking into alternatives--”

“There are no alternatives to a Crusader suit,” she interrupted. “No knock-offs or generic brands. Either you have a suit that works, or you have a disaster waiting to happen.”

Winston nodded, ignoring her aggressive tone. “You’re absolutely right. That’s why I’ve been looking for alternatives to buying a suit. As we are all aware by now, there are very few functioning suits left in existence and even fewer that are up for sale. The ones for sale cost more than any of us would be able to afford. Unless we are willing to buy an oversized riot shield for Reinhardt, we’d have to accept his new role as a rifleman.” Reinhardt’s chair rattled as he gave an exaggerated shudder. “That is why I believe we should mount a mission to Eichenwald.”

“…Eichenwald?” Reinhardt whispered reverently. “_The_ Eichenwald?”

“I know of no other,” Winston said with a grin.

“I’d be honored to walk the hallowed grounds of the Battalion’s last stand! To see the very halls where they—“

“Woah, wait!” Brigitte cut in. “Eichenwald is a DMZ. It’s completely off limits and more importantly, completely radioactive!” Hanzo inhaled sharply through his nose. “Unless Dr. Ziegler has some magic pill that can counter lethal amounts of exposure to that stuff, there’s no way anyone’s going to be able to secure any armor in there. _If _there’s armor in there.” 

Hanzo turned his head right, zeroing in on Dr. Ziegler. She had insisted that this was common knowledge.

“What do you mean ‘if’?” Dr. Ziegler demanded. “You are the one who insisted that there are two suits in the DMZ!”

“Yeah,” Brigitte scoffed, “they’re _assumed _to be in the DMZ because that’s where the last owners died, probably while they were wearing them. No one has been able to account for them by checking in, because, again, _deadly levels of radiation._”

“I think you’ll find that the rumors of lethal environmental hazards in Eichenwald are highly exaggerated,” Dr. Ziegler sniffed. “They sent a team to survey the remains of Eichenwald three years ago.” She held up a thick stack of papers. Hanzo narrowed his eyes. He’d like to read through those. “What they found and collected was classified, obviously, but I have the study of the team’s post-mission recovery report to prove that they were _there _at least. The medical ailments were all negligible.”

“Grew a second head negligible or life-long cancer negligible?”

“Neither,” Dr. Ziegler bit out. “Of the twelve person team, all made complete recoveries within two days, except for one who contracted a common viral infection and recovered within a week. For whatever reason, radioactivity levels have decayed much more rapidly than scientific models had predicted. Why the German government has not lifted the DMZ status on the region, I cannot say, except that it works to our distinct advantage.”

“And how did our darling Dr. Ziegler come by all of this information, hm?” Torbjörn asked. Slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself, Hanzo leaned forward on his forearms to better see Dr. Ziegler’s reaction.

She threw the papers on the table in front of her, lips curled in disgust. “Not this again! I just _told _you that I have a medical study on the team’s recovery. It was published three years ago in a German medical journal—“

“So you’re saying that every doctor in Germany knows that Eichenwald is safe?” Torbjörn sneered. “And somehow no one has figured it out?”

“No. Yes? I don’t know!” Dr. Ziegler leaned back in her chair, two fingers pressed on her temple. “I was in Numbani at the time of its release and I don’t keep an eye on German politics because, if you care to remember, _I am Swiss_.”

Jesse’s relaxed baritone stemmed Torbjörn’s biting retort. “Alright, settle down now. Don’t need a fight in the war room.”

“All I’m saying,” Torbjörn said slowly, “is that it seems very convenient that Dr. Ziegler happens to come to the rescue every time Overwatch has a problem.” 

Privately, Hanzo was inclined to agree. However, it was certainly plausible that she was telling the truth. If she had managed to acquire a medical file detailing a successful mission to Eichenwald without difficulty—and he had every intention of getting his own hands on that report—then it would be reasonable for her to assume that the information was at least publicly available.

“And all _I’m _sayin’ is it seems incredibly ungrateful to spit in the face of the one gal who keeps managin’ to pull our asses out of the fire! She told you where she got her information, she even printed out a copy for you, and you’re still bein’ an ass! You make it sound as if you’d be happier if we couldn’t find a replacement for Reinhardt’s suit at all.”

“That’s not what I’m—bah, forget it.” Torbjörn brushed his beard down in irritation. “What’s the plan for Eichenwald?”

Winston coughed, swiping at his tablet. “The general idea is that we send a team on the Lark to search for and secure a suit of armor. There is no expected hostile interaction and it shouldn’t even take a whole day, since it’s only an hour flight. Lena, how many people could you fit on the Lark, accounting for the space that two suits would need?”

“Er,” Startled at being addressed unexpectedly, Lena nearly tipped her chair over in an attempt to sit up straight. “Let’s see. I can seat eight, but I don’t really have cargo space and the real snag is weight distribution. Don’t want to bank left and then lose control when there’s too much weight on one side, yeah? So I’ve got room for six, but I’d rather only take four.”

“I see. And we’ll need mechanical expertise, so that takes up two slots already.”

Torbjörn squinted at Winston. “I hope those two are Brigitte and Reinhardt. Unless you want to wait until I’m back from my anniversary trip.”

“Uh, yes. Um, unless that’d be a problem, Lena?”

She looked at Reinhardt speculatively. “Think you can make it for a two-hour ride, love?”

“Of course! I could stand on my head that long!”

She grinned. “That’s good enough for me!”

“Okay,” Winston nodded, “that means we have two seats left. Who wants to go on a field trip?”

McCree laughed. “You know, I think I’ll wait for the one to Chernobyl.”

Hanzo considered volunteering—as McCree had said, he would need to ‘earn his keep’ in the organization—but Dr. Ziegler spoke up. “Wasn’t one of our ‘lessons learned’ from the Antarctica mission that we would have a medical plan for every mission? One of those seats should go to someone with first aid skills.”

“Is that your way of saying you want to go?” Winston asked hopefully.

“Ah, no.” She blushed lightly. “I can’t. My lab work for my latest dissertation will be going through its critical stages for the next two weeks. I have to check it hourly. I can automate Athena to do that for me, but if anything happens, I need to be able to manually fix it within thirty minutes. It’s too fragile to leave unattended.” 

Hanzo hummed softly in contemplation. Is that how she was compensating her time professionally while she was here?

“I could go,” Zenyatta volunteered. “I have learned much from Dr. Ziegler these past weeks. I feel that I am proficient enough to provide medical assistance.” 

Faced with an entire day in the omnic’s company, Hanzo resolved to volunteer for the next mission. Although, he supposed Genji would appreciate it if he made a true effort to start a cordial relationship with--

“I will accompany you, master.”

Well. Perhaps next time.

Winston smiled broadly, long canines glinting in the office light. “Excellent! That’s a full roster. We’ll meet up tomorrow to make sure everything is ready for the mission. If we don’t need to order any equipment, we can send you out as early as Wednesday! Barring any questions or concerns, I think that’s all for this week’s meeting.” Winston looked around the table expectantly, but the team remained silent. “Alright then. Have a good night everyone!”


	15. Ruins

“Rein, look,” Brigitte said quietly, tapping Reinhardt’s shoulder repeatedly. “That’s Stuttgart below us.”

Reinhardt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to maneuver his massive frame in the restrictive space to better see out the window. “It will not be long before we arrive at Eichenwald.” He murmured.

Genji peered closely at Reinhardt’s face. He had been unusually subdued the entire flight, and the longer they were in the air, the more solemn he appeared. It was both fascinating and concerning. Reinhardt had retired before Genji joined the Overwatch team, but all the legends surrounding the Crusader involved his enthusiastic battle prowess. From what Genji had seen these recent months where he had become personally acquainted with Reinhardt, those legends were true. There hadn’t been a single instance of morose memories taking hold or somber stories of fallen soldiers. Even during his epic recounting of battles where eighty percent of his unit died, Reinhardt somehow managed to convey a sense of envious pride for those who had the honor of dying with hammer in hand.

⟪Msater, I am concerned for our large friend.⟫

From the seat in front of him, Zenyatta turned and replied in perfect Japanese. ⟪What troubles you, my student?⟫

⟪I have never seen him so serious.⟫

⟪Hm. Are we not traveling to the final stand of his battalion? I would think it reasonable for our friend to feel sadness weigh upon his soul.⟫

⟪Yes, Master. Still, it is uncharacteristic.⟫

⟪Then we shall keep a close eye. Now, we should switch to a language our companions can understand. It is rude to exclude them so.⟫

“Of course, Master.”

“Reinhardt,” Zenyatta said, drawing the silver-haired warrior’s attention. “I do not see you often on base. I am pleased that I have this opportunity to know you better.”

Reinhardt laughed, short and forceful instead of its usual warm, full peals. “What would you like to know of me?”

“Well, since I am the chaplain, do you have a spiritual tradition? Only if you are comfortable discussing it.”

“Spiritual tradition? Of course! I worship every day in the church of iron,” Reinhardt winked with his bad eye, the milky white orb disappearing behind his scarred eyelid briefly.

…Which appeared to escape Zenyatta’s notice entirely. “Oh?” he asked curiously. “I am unfamiliar with such a faith.” 

Behind Reinhardt, Brigitte snickered quietly, which normally wouldn’t be a good sign to Genji, but she had been acting oddly on the flight as well. Less-than-benign laughter was much more in character for her.

“Alas! Few are. Ever-advancing technology turns the devoted away from the rack.”

The light glinted off from Zenyatta’s head as he tilted it slightly in concern. “The… rack?” Zenyatta asked.

“Master, he is referring to—“

“Yes! The rack!” Reinhardt interrupted, his one eye glittering with mischief. “The true altar of the church of iron. When one enters the rack, all worldly cares fall away and the divine spirit of gains consumes you! Be not tempted by the false god of cardio who would lead you not into glory of form but shrink the sacred temple of your soul.”

Genji rolled his eyes. “The _gym_, Master. He is talking about going to the gym.”

Zenyatta paused, and for a split second, Genji worried that Reinhardt’s false religion had offended him. But then Zenyatta chuckled, and Genji rebuked himself for even considering that his master would surrender his composure over an innocent joke. 

“That is quite the analogy, Reinhardt. Your good humor must be a valuable commodity for the team.”

“Anything for Overwatch!” He boomed, although his customary smile beneath his beard seemed a little strained.

Genji glanced at his Master, anxious to see if he was the only one picking up on Reinhardt’s mood. The soft blue lights of Zenyatta’s photoreceptors pulsed gently and his orbs rotated a slow, steady pace, empathy and calm radiating out from his master.

“Rein.” Brigitte’s voice was so soft that Genji likely wouldn’t have heard it without his enhancements. He knew for a fact that Reinhardt didn’t hear it, but Brigitte’s small hand on his bicep turned his attention to her.

“Yes, _fraulein_?”

“I think that’s the DMZ below us.” 

Reinhardt leaned over her to peer out the window. 

Curious, Genji peeked out his own window to view the ground far below. It seemed that they had already begun their descent some time ago, as it was easier to make out roads and houses than Genji would have otherwise expected. He stared at the rolling hills beneath them, trying to discern what made Brigitte believe they were in the DMZ. There were still clear signs of civilization beneath them. Maybe she could only see it on her side? Lena didn’t like it when they moved around the cabin while she was flying, but she probably wouldn’t notice if he—

The thought died in its place. 

The residential area had suddenly dropped away, a large swath of land cleared of all vegetation and life cut through the landscape, winding around what was undoubtedly the DMZ. The boundary clearing had to be at least half a click wide for it to be so clearly visible from this high up. On the other side of the boundary, a wildly overgrown forest stretched for miles, undulating with the terrain until it all speared into the sky on a range of mountains. 

There were bald patches in the forest every so often, typically littered with the enormous carcasses of nuclear-powered Rhodes Machines. Though they seemed to be only metallic specks through the window, Genji knew that the colossal machines stood several stories tall when operable. Thankfully, he had only seen one in the Omnic Crisis Museum in Tokyo, gutted of all processors and with welded joints, ensuring the monstrous weapons never again stalked across the land spewing death and destruction.

Ahead of them, in the foothills of the mountains, one particularly ambitious hill stood higher than its brethren. Stone buildings lined the hill, partially obstructed from view by trees, and above even the tallest tree, a castle crowned the brow of the hill—the famed Eichenwald Castle. 

Genji stole a glance at Reinhardt, not surprised to see the veteran’s face shadowed with dark emotion. Reinhardt looked up at him sharply and the air in Genji’s lungs froze, immobile with terror, mind clamoring in alarm because Death had returned, come to reclaim him after it missed him the first time, Death did not pass over souls twice He would not spare him over another year or another day He wouldn’t be satisfied until he lay in his grave—

“Genji?”

Genji blinked and the spell broke. Reinhardt was peering closely at him, but his eyes were warm and concerned rather than frigid and vicious. He sucked in a breath and turned away from Reinhardt, eyes wide behind his faceplate. A hand fell on his shoulder and Genji jumped in his seat, head snapping up to see Zenyatta looking down at him.

“Are you unwell, my student?”

The cold still clung to his lungs. Genji swallowed forcefully and then laughed as naturally as he could. “Of course, Master Zenyatta. I am merely anxious to begin our mission.”

“I see.” His master intoned. 

It used to be that Genji thought his skills at deception were far above Zenyatta’s skills of detection, but over the years with the Shambali, he learned that Zenyatta was simply allowing him space and privacy. Master never pressed unless invited.

The overhead speakers beeped, signaling a pilot’s announcement. “Morning, loves! Make sure you’re buckled in, we’re going to be touching down in the town square in ten minutes. Tracer out!” 

Genji leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, still trying to sort out his emotions from Reinhardt’s scare. Is that how the enemies of the Crusader Battalion felt beneath the blow of hammers? Did their hearts beat and stutter like that in their final moments, before their bones shattered and organs ruptured? When Hanzo had nearly killed him, it was not the same. There was no premonition of death, no inkling of just how close he was to breaking Hanzo’s tenuous control over his righteous anger until it had already snapped, until Hanzo’s blade began to glow, until his own scream melded with the dragons.

The Lark shuddered as it touched down on German soil, breaking Genji out of his memories. He quickly undid his seatbelt and moved to stand at the door, very eager to escape the thoughts that seemed to fill the small plane.

Brigitte rolled her eyes at him. “Sit down, Genji. The plane’s not on fire.”

“Who’s trying to set my plane on fire?” Lena asked as she ducked into the main cabin area, cheerily grinning at her passengers. Her eyes settled on Genji, the only one already standing. “Eager much? I didn’t think my flying was _that _bad.” She moved so quick it almost seemed as if she teleported to his side—a possibility given her chronal accelerator—but Genji knew it was her natural speed from the lack of her tell-tale afterimage. She elbowed him in the ribs. “I charge extra for barrel rolls!” She giggled infectiously and Genji joined, smiling fondly at her. “Right, I’ll just undo the latch real quick—“

Several people shouted at once, Zenyatta’s “Wait!” cut across by Brigitte’s “No!” and both drowned out by Reinhardt’s “Lena!”. As for Genji, he settled for pinning her arm against the cabin wall.

“Uh,” she began, wide brown eyes flicking between the other four. “Was it something I said?”

“Miss Oxton,” Zenyatta said calmly yet urgently. “Did you take readings from the Geigermeter?”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” She grinned and flipped her bangs out of her eyes. “Of course! First thing I checked when we landed.” Genji breathed a sigh of relief and released her arm. He really did not enjoy being the responsible one. “Just because I fly birds doesn’t make me bird_brained_! Eh? Geddit?”

Brigitte had settled into a sour scowl. “We agreed before we left that you were supposed to tell us what the readings were. Winston said it at least five times in the mission brief!”

Lena tilted her head and cocked her hip. “Huh. You know, now that you mention it, I think he did say something about that…”

Disbelief and outrage formed on Brigitte’s face, mottling it an unseemly red. Genji watched Reinhardt place a hand on her shoulder in the guise of using her for support to stand. She pitched forward under his weight and though she glared up at her mentor, Brigitte didn’t say anything further about Lena’s lapse. 

Crouching over so that his head didn’t punch through the roof of the plane, Reinhardt chuckled good-humoredly. “Ah, no harm, no _fowl_. Now, let’s get that door open! Old Reinhardt needs to stretch his joints.”

Lena winked and mock saluted him. “Right away, captain!” 

Genji stepped back from the door so Lena could unlatch it and lower the air stair. Despite himself, he held his breath when the door finally lowered, morning sunlight and fresh air rushing into the cabin space. There was a moment where no one moved and time hung suspended.

“So,” Genji said, drawing out the syllable. “Since no one is choking on their own lungs, I suppose it is safe to go outside?”

Reinhardt chuckled and exited the plane, Brigitte shadowing him closely. Not willing to wait even another moment, Genji leapt out after him, barely registering Lena saying “Right, guess I’ll just stay here then…” 

Even though it was late morning, the smell of dew hung heavy in the air. Maybe it had rained recently, as it was still somewhat overcast. Genji sprinted at the nearest building, feet and hands gaining easy traction on the stone facades and scaling to the second-floor balcony easily. With the height advantage, it was much easier to survey his surroundings. Genji balked at the sight of the Lark, wedged tightly between an old clock tower and several storefronts. A few meters in either direction while she was landing and Lena would have clipped the Lark’s wings in the _best _case scenario. He tapped his comm.

“I think you parked a little crooked, Lena.”

“Oh, sod off,” Lena laughed. “Landing is the most fun I get out of these missions.”

Chuckling, he released the comm and took a moment to better orient himself to the land. The terrain sloped down and away in front of him and to his right, which meant he was facing down the mountain on the south side. To his left should be the castle… he turned and craned his head up, trying to see over the ancient wall that surrounded the center-most part of the city-- not that it much resembled a city anymore. Trees and other shrubbery grew up between cracks in pavement, moss hugged the dark corners of buildings, and birds roosted in the tire wells of abandoned cars. The air wasn’t stale like he would expect of an abandoned city, but fresh and clean. All the damage he could see was easily attributed to a decade without maintenance rather than being the last stand in a war.

…Didn’t he climb up here for a reason? Right, castle. Even after repositioning himself on the balcony, he could only make out a few roofs above them, and none seemed to be of the castle variety. Not that western castles shared many features with the one he grew up in. He snorted lightly. Attentiveness was never his strongest attribute, but he didn’t normally fall into the past so often. Reliving memories of childhood with Hanzo must have been stirring the dust in those rarely visited parts of his mind.

“Genji,” Master’s voice called up to him. Not quite loud enough to be a shout, but emphasized enough to give Genji the distinct impression that Master had been calling his name for a while. He leapt down from the balcony, tucking himself into a roll before ending on his feet in front of his master.

“Yes?”

“Did you see anything concerning from your perch, little sparrow?”

“No, Master. It is very quiet.”

Nearby, Reinhardt turned in a slow circle, his eye tracing over the remnants of Eichenwald with a fond smile. “This town was never noisy, but I cannot say it was ever this quiet. No matter if it was a weekend or workday or holiday, _life _always beat in the heart of Eichenwald.”

“Yeah, well,” Brigitte said, picking at a bullet hole in the side of a building. “Seems pretty dead now.” 

Reinhardt’s face fell as he eyed a yawning gap in a storefront, whatever wares they sold long gone from the display. Genji watched him pensively. Was Reinhardt here in the city during the final fight? Was he among the few Crusaders to survive the firefight long enough to evacuate with the citizens? Or had he already joined Overwatch?

“Perhaps you are simply searching for the wrong form of life.” Genji said encouragingly. His words were meant for Reinhardt, who nodded at him in gratitude, but he was surprised to see Brigitte glaring at him.

“Whatever. Let’s get going.” She shouldered her backpack and trudged to the massive double doors of the city’s wall. The doors were at least three times her height, so it was no surprise that even when she braced both hands against the door and heaved against it, the solid wood did little more than creak.

Reinhardt gripped her shoulder in his usual comforting manner. “If the doors held during the siege, I do not think that we will be its downfall. We’ll have to go in through the side entrances.”

Brigitte kicked at the door. Genji cocked his head at the display. Shows of frustration and anger weren’t uncommon for her, but that’s normally what they were_— shows_. The closest he had ever seen her to being genuinely angry was when Reinhardt broke his armor, and even then it was overshadowed by her fear and concern for his wellbeing. 

“Lot of good it did Eichenwald,” She spat. “Who puts side entrances in a stupid wall anyway?” She turned to march to the nearest entrance, but Reinhardt instead steered her by the shoulder to face the opposite direction. “Rein! Stop messing around, the castle is the other way.”

“Of course it is, _fraulein_,” he chortled as she swiped at his hand unhappily. “I was only hoping that we could visit the tavern before we went to work.”

“I do not think that such an establishment would still be operating,” Zenyatta said.

“Oh, it’s not,” Reinhardt agreed, his eyes taking on a faraway glaze, “but it was home to so many good memories… I would like to see it, just one more time.”

“Ugh, fine, let’s just _go _somewhere,” Brigitte ducked out from Reinhardt’s grip and disappeared behind the Lark on her way down the hill, her mentor not far behind her.

Genji shared a look with Master. “I am no longer concerned only for our large friend.”

“Hm. I worry for them both as well. It would be best not to let them wander off alone.” 

Adjusting his robe, Master followed in the other pair’s footsteps. Genji darted after him, pattering around the Lark, only to nearly fall into a large crater in the cobblestone road. He teetered on the edge before leaping backwards, broken pieces of brick trickling down the slope of the crater onto the mangled mess of metal in the center.

Genji broke his gaze away from the OR14 to reassess his surroundings. On the side that they disembarked from the Lark, the stores were mostly intact, although windows were missing and doors were broken away from their hinges. The only real suggestion of a past war were walls pockmarked with bullet holes. 

It was not so on this side of the Lark. 

The broad road was littered with dead omnics; OR14s, B73s, Slicer models, and even a Spyder tank were strewn across the square. The smaller units and the B73s were covered in soft blankets of grass and moss, but the larger units were surrounded by patches of barren and blackened dirt. Master bowed his head over the crater and murmured a short prayer.

“I would be careful not to let the others see you when you pray, Master.”

“Compassion for those that would do us harm is a valuable skill to learn and practice.”

“I do not think they would see it as compassion.”

“All the more reason to walk the path, so others may follow.” With that, Master straightened, orbs spinning somewhat faster than usual, and continued down the road. 

Genji shrugged mentally. He remembered when the elder monks gossiped amongst themselves after his placement, how a stubborn student could only be matched by an even more stubborn teacher.

As he made his way down the avenue to the tavern, Genji was careful to avoid any of the bots surrounded by scorched earth. Even though the Geigermeter’s readings were as low as when they left Gibraltar, he had no desire to pick up any residual radiation from the carcasses. It was a stroke of disturbed genius on the God Programs’ part to install spheres of radioactive waste inside their soldiers, designed to crack open when the bot died. It was only towards the end of the Crisis that they started doing it, when it was clear that humanity wasn’t going to die quietly.

He eyed the Spyder tank taking up most of the road beneath an archway. The dead zone extended three meters in any direction from the bot. Did the others just squeeze by the tank? Yeah, he’d rather climb over one of the buildings. He scrambled up the side of a shop—it looked like it might have been a modernized tech shop when the city still existed, but it was now painfully outmoded—and onto the roof, careful to test his weight on the exposed crossbeams before sprinting across. The entire far side of the building was rubble, making it easy to scale down using the many hand and footholds the crumbling edifice provided.

“Genji!” Reinhardt shouted up at him. Genji scanned the ruins for him, disconcerted when the giant man wasn’t immediately obvious. “Over here!” Then Genji spotted him, already in a wooden, lodge-like building on the edge of the cliff, calling out from where a window used to be.

“I will be right over!” He called back, not bothering to use his comm for so short a distance. “Is Master Zenyatta with you?”

Reinhardt ducked his head into the building and shouted unintelligibly before reemerging. “Yes, he is here!” 

Genji gave a thumbs up and began picking his way across the ruined road to the building Reinhardt was in—probably the tavern.

“Nipping out to the pub on the job, are we?” Lena said as she materialized beside Genji. He leapt into the air with a small yelp, changing direction last minute to make it seem as if he was trying to jump over a small Splicer.

“It is cheating when you can teleport!” He accused as she giggled madly. Wait. Why was she here? “…Lena?”

“Yes, love?” She asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching the ship?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Unless someone installed a pilot AI while I wasn’t looking, I’m pretty sure the Lark will still be there when we finish up.”

“I thought the point was so you could monitor the air traffic channel to make sure no one was planning to investigate the private jet flying suspiciously close to the DMZ.”

“That’s why I patched the channel into my comm!” She pointed to the small white headphone in her ear. “Now I can do my job and have fun with—er, I mean help you out, too!” He stared at her, weighing his options. “Please?” She asked, her brown eyes widening beseechingly. “I never get to have fun on these missions.”

The responsible thing to do would be to make her about face and march her back to the Lark, leaving her to do her job like they planned in the mission meeting the day before, just like Winston had laid it out to them. 

He shrugged. “Seems reasonable to me. Come on, the others are inside.” 

She squealed, pumping a fist in the air before darting through the doors, the blue streak of her afterimage trailing after her. Genji followed close behind her, his visor rapidly adjusting to the darkness of the entryway and then the brightness of the tavern proper. It was dilapidated, of course, with upturned tables and chairs, animal droppings in the corners and bird nests in the high rafters. Trophy heads of stags and boar stared sightlessly from the walls. 

Genji shuddered and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the spirit of desolation. He could only imagine how Reinhardt must feel, seeing one of his favorite places reduced to--

“Lena! I did not know you were coming with us.” Reinhardt swept her up into his arms in an enthusiastic hug, her feet not even touching the floor, grinning widely. “Ah, I can still remember how it used to be! Food, beer, music!” He extended one arm, his hand still holding Lena’s, as he began to waltz about the small dance floor. “I would come here every night in my youth, eager to lose myself in the eyes of a beautiful barmaid.” He waggled his eyebrows at his dance partner and she laughed. 

In the corner, Brigitte scoffed. Genji glanced at her, seeing her bent over an old newspaper. 

Undeterred, Reinhardt chuckled and set Lena down on her feet. “Yes, that was how the barmaid felt as well. I wish you could see this place as I remember it. It was always full of such warmth! Here, this wall used to be entirely glass, but even in the winter it was never cold because this fireplace was always burning. You could sit on this bench and sip warm beer as you watched the snow fall on the forest below.” Reinhardt paused at the open end of the building.

Genji looked around the gutted tavern, trying to imagine it as Reinhardt described. It was harder than he thought it would be, when even the handles for the tap beer were cracked and faded. He padded behind the bar, experimentally pulling on the taps. Nothing came out, of course, not that he expected anything to happen. 

To his left, he heard Master speak. “What is this plaque for, Reinhardt?”

Reinhardt gasped. “I can’t believe it’s still here!” He extended his huge hand, reverently touching the oak plaque. “Every junior Crusader dreamed of earning their place on here. It was the mark of a true warrior and the highest honor!”

“Sounds impressive,” Genji said. “Are you on there?”

“Ha! But of course!” Reinhardt proudly pointed out a name about two thirds of the way down. Genji leaned forward, trying to make out the words. The names were easy, but he didn’t know enough German to be able to read the rest.

Lena appeared at his elbow. “What do you have to do to get your name up there? Win a hundred battles?”

“Save a hundred people?” Zenyatta guessed.

“Wrestle a bear?” Genji asked.

“Lose a limb?” Brigitte muttered. Reinhardt frowned at her, concern clear on his face, but she didn’t look up from her newspaper.

He turned back to the others, a smile already in place. “Even better! We had to conquer the Five-Tusked Boar!”

Genji grinned. “Ha! I was closest.”

“Not quite, my friend! The tusks were hollowed out horns that could hold a whole liter of beer. You had to drink five tusks’ worth in ninety minutes!”

“Aw,” Lena pouted, “I thought you actually wrestled a boar. That’s not nearly as cool.”

“Are you sure, Lena?” Genji prodded her with his elbow. “I am fairly sure that is more beer than I have blood in my body.” Lena’s face crumpled in disgust as she made a retching sound.

“Ugh! Now I’m imagining Rein drinking blood instead of beer!”

Zenyatta chuckled. “Who was the first to defeat the Five-Tusked Boar?”

Reinhardt’s face softened as he swiped the dust off the first name. “Baldrich von Alder. He was my master and mentor, the one who raised me through the ranks of the Crusader Battalion! He won the challenge before he even joined the German Army. He was born here, you know! And he died here.” 

Genji glanced up sharply, expecting to find Reinhardt’s face full of sorrow, but the white-haired soldier was only smiling fondly.

“Yeah,” Brigitte interjected, finally rising from her chair. “Most of the people who lived here died here. There was a whole battle about it. Maybe you missed it.”

Reinhardt winced. “_Fraulein…_”

“Hey!” An indignant Lena stepped in front of Brigitte’s path. “Maybe you should show a bit of respect, yeah? He fought a whole war for us! You can’t just blame a whole town on him—a town where most of his friends died fighting to save.” Lena paled, quickly glancing back at Reinhardt to see if she had crossed a line.

Perhaps it was Brigitte she should have looked to. 

“Well they didn’t do a very good job, did they?” She snarled, her braided ponytail swinging as she bore down on Lena. Normally Brigitte didn’t seem very tall, as she was always in the company of Reinhardt, but as she towered over the much shorter Lena, Genji realized she was nearly two meters tall herself. “Maybe they were too busy worrying about getting the most _glorious _death to remember the people who actually lived here! The Crusaders holed themselves up in that stupid castle and left everyone else to rot.”

Lena leaned back from Brigitte’s aggression, but remained steadfast. “How would _you _know—“

“Miss Oxton, Miss Lindholm!” Master placed a hand on each of their shoulders, gently prying them apart. While Lena had the grace to look embarrassed, Brigitte threw his hand off and snatched her bag from the table.

“Whatever, let’s just go. We actually have a _job _to do, in case you forgot.” This time, it was Master who stood in her way. She glared at him. “Move.”

“I do not think that would be a skillful action on my part,” Master said, every other orb spinning rapidly. “You are distressed. Continuing our mission can wait until we ensure your wellbeing.”

Brigitte rolled her eyes. “Ugh, Rein, tell him to back off.” 

Silence. 

Confused, she turned to face him. “Rein!” He tucked his chin and slowly shook his head. “Oh, this is just perfect. Way to stick up for me.”

“Brigitte, I am worried for you.” He approached the other side of the table, picking a chair up from the ground and tentatively testing his weight on it before sitting. His arm swept out, gesturing her to sit. Brigitte crossed her arms. “Please, _fraulein_?” 

With a _tch_, she plopped herself back into her chair, unslinging her backpack and letting it drop beside her.

Genji shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Do you want us to leave, Master?”

Master hummed. “I think that would be up to Miss Lindholm.”

Brigitte glared at Master again before grumbling, “I don’t care.”

Master seated himself beside Brigitte. On the other side of the table, Lena made to sit next to Reinhardt until Genji softly suggested that he sit there instead, not eager to encourage another explosive interaction between the two women. 

“I noticed on our flight here,” Zenyatta began, “that you were both very much out of sorts. Grief, sadness, and anger are all reasonable and normal reactions when visiting a place so charged with personal meaning. Everyone has their own way of dealing with these emotions and I would encourage you both to use whatever method that suits you best. However,” Here Zenyatta fixed Brigitte with a stern look. She held his gaze evenly, but Genji could see her arms shift as she fidgeted with her hands. “Using your teammates as targets for these emotions is unacceptable.” 

Brigitte looked away.

“_Fraulein_, we are here for you. You do not have to fight this battle alone.” Genji glanced at Reinhardt. Calling what amounted to a temper tantrum ‘fighting a battle’ was a little melodramatic in his opinion, but that was Reinhardt for you. “We fight _with _you, not against you.”

“Yes, fine, I get it!” She said, throwing up her arms. “I was in the wrong, I was being a bitch, I’m sorry. I promise not to do it again. Is that enough?” She pinned Reinhardt with her eyes. He frowned, but didn’t protest.

“Are you sure you don’t want to discuss this more?” Master asked. 

Brigitte nodded shortly, her braid jumping with the movement. 

He dipped his head, his necklace of orbs revolving around him once. “Well, if Reinhardt feels this is sufficient and you have no desire to talk further, then I see no sense in delaying our mission further.”

“_Finally_.” Once more, she stood from the table and once more, she swung her bag onto her shoulders. “I’m going outside. It smells like rotting wood in here.”

“Well, that was lovely,” Lena said sarcastically.

Genji privately agreed. Brigitte’s behavior reminded him of his younger self, during his Blackwatch days and he was not particularly eager to revisit those memories. “I suppose we should move on,” he said. “There is nothing for us here.”

“Yes,” Reinhardt agreed, “I do not wish to leave Brigitte alone for too long.”

The group stood, the sound of chairs scraping against the wood floors was almost forlorn, as if the tavern was sad to see its only patrons in years leaving its hall once more. As they walked to the door, Genji glanced at the wall and paused. “Reinhardt?”

“Yes?”

“Did you want to bring the plaque with you?”

Reinhardt walked back to Genji, squinting at the oak and brass plaque. Then, he smiled. “No. Those names belong in this hall. It is a testament to their lives, of the joy and the sorrows the Crusaders shared in this tavern. It is a memorial for the glory days. I will not be the one to tear it down.”

Genji eyed the plaque critically, turning the words over in his mind. “The glory days are not dead, Reinhardt.”

Reinhardt smiled again, but it was sadder this time. It was perhaps the first time since they had landed that Reinhardt had seemed mournful. “Ah, maybe not for you, my young friend. But for them?” Reinhardt nodded at the plaque. “The glory days died long ago.” Reinhardt brushed his thumb across the first name one last time before straightening his shoulders and walking out of the tavern, his boots thudding loudly in the quiet. Genji looked at the plaque again, frowning at the only other name without dirt smudging the letters.

_Reinhardt Wilhelm_ _11 APRIL 2027_


	16. Recruit

“Winston? You in here?” Jesse called out into the cavernous lab. 

As usual, with no carpet, curtains, or paintings to absorb the sound, the bare walls coldly echoed his voice back to him. It sounded so… lifeless. Jesse shuddered, shifting his hat further up on his head to see better. He didn’t know how Winston could stand living in here. Despite the bright sunshine streaming in through the windows, there was no sign of him. Odd, considering the man—gorilla, whatever—had _just _messaged him to pick up his ammo from the lab. 

He turned on his heel to investigate other parts of the base. Maybe Winston was in the kitchen.

“McCree.” 

Jesse whipped around, hand instinctively moving to Peacekeeper’s pommel before he could process that he _knew _the unexpected voice. Sure enough, Hanzo stared down at him imperiously from the second level of the lab. 

“Winston is currently assisting Dr. Ziegler.”

Well, damn. That explained why Winston wasn’t in here. Suppose he could go knock on Doc’s door, but that carried a risk if they were working on something… delicate. “What’s he helpin’ Doc with?”

“Dr. Ziegler’s experiment requires near-constant supervision. Winston is watching it while she rests and eats.”

Which meant that Winston wouldn’t be able to give him his ammo until Doc was done sleeping. Jesse sighed, not bothering to hiding his disappointment. Nothing like finding out Christmas had been postponed. “Mighty kind of him.”

Hanzo’s lips twitched in an aborted smile. Amazing the man didn’t bloat with all that emotional constipation. “Yes, I am sure that he takes no pleasure in switching roles with Dr. Ziegler.”

Jesse snorted. “The hell he doesn’t! I bet he’s havin’ the time of his damn life lordin’ over her—“ He paused, trying to figure out just _why _Hanzo was looking more smug by the minute. “Woah there, were you bein’ sarcastic?” The smug look evaporated as Jesse laughed. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit! I never thought I’d see the day. Hanzo Shimada has a sense of humor.”

“Your sayings are so…crass,” Hanzo said, mouth twisted in distaste. “Is there something I can assist you with, McCree, or may I return to my work?”

The hell kind of work is Hanzo doing in Winston’s lab? “I s’pose that depends. Did Winston mention anythin’ about a shipment comin’ in for me?” And then Jesse could swear that the atmosphere around Hanzo shifted. 

It morphed from cold apathy—the air had felt heavy, but taut—to calculating interest without any discernible physical change in body or posture. It was like looking at one of those pictures that was both an old and a young woman, as long as you squinted your eyes and tilted your head and Jesse—poker champion and self-proclaimed master of body language—had _no idea_ how he did that. There was no way in hell he was going to let that fly.

“The munitions order? He did. I have the shipment up here, if you would like to collect it.” Hanzo gestured behind him with tight but clean motions.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jesse said absently as he climbed the stairs, making sure to keep Hanzo in his field of vision. He blinked as he realized what he was doing—looked like breaking down all of Hanzo’s twitches and habits was going to be his new pet project. Weren’t any rifles left to clean anyway. “What’re you workin’ on in here?”

Now, if it were Jesse answering the question, he would’ve shrugged as he talked. Creating an air of ease and casualness was damn near automatic for him because it communicated a sense of ‘this is normal’, ‘ain’t nothin’ strange goin’ on here’, ‘pay no mind to the man behind the curtain’. That kind of attitude went a long way in having others think you’re _supposed _to be there, rather than a stow-away who dodged the ticket master twice on the way to the train carriage with a bar he was too young to be in.

Hanzo, though, did nothing. He remained completely, almost preternaturally, still. It was weird, but it wasn’t a problem. Silence could mean just as much as words in a conversation. 

“If you would recall” –And shit, Jesse already forgot what question Hanzo was supposed to be answering-- “I volunteered to be the logistics officer at the meeting.” As he made it to the second floor, Hanzo opened the door and lead him through Winston’s poorly organized office. “I have been inventorying current assets and evaluating our budget. Deliveries also fall under my purview, which is why I have your ammunition.” 

Hanzo motioned with his arm at the wooden box. Just like last time, he used his right arm, extended straight, hand open but fingers pressed together and slightly angled. So stuffy and proper. Jesse bet _he’d _never get sent to Blackwatch’s ‘cultural reeducation’ class for pointing at shit with his thumb.

“Huh. Fancy that.” Jesse perched himself on the desk—weird that it was clear enough to sit on, Winston usually had papers stacked _everywhere_—and pried the small crate open, keeping Hanzo in his peripherals. 

A number of smaller cardboard boxes were stacked inside, cushioned with sawdust. He pulled his hat from his head, hanging it on the corner of a monitor before he took the first box off the top and opened the flap, grinning at the prospect of shiny, new bullets. “Now ain’t that a pretty sight?” Jesse said with a wink as he held out his prize to Hanzo, half out of boredom, half out of an impish desire to throw him off balance.

Hanzo blinked before eyeing Jesse warily. “You have a curious definition of beauty,” he said slowly.

Well that wasn’t as entertaining as he hoped it be. Eh, he’d get him next time. “I figure most folks do.”

“Hm.” That was it. Flippant acknowledgment and clear dismissal wrapped up into one hum. Rude. “I would suggest you inventory your ammunition before signing for it. I counted one hundred, but I suppose that it is possible that I miscounted.”

“Sign for it? Damn, you’re takin’ this seriously.” He pulled out all of the cardboard boxes and found that there were ten. Awesome, there just needed to be ten bullets in each one. Easy counting.

“As I do most things.” 

Jesse glanced back up from his bullets, but Hanzo had already seated himself at his desk, hunched over paperwork with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. Whatever, wasn’t no sweat of his back if His Highness didn’t feel like holding a damn convers—hold the fuck up. Glasses?

“Aren’t you supposed to be a sniper?”

“I am.” Hanzo didn’t look up, scratching a note on his tablet with his stylus. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re wearin’ glasses.”

“Yes,” Hanzo said with only the barest hint of exasperation. “They are reading glasses. I am farsighted.”

“I thought only old folk wore reading glasses.” Oh, now, _that _got an irritated look. Just a glance, really, barely even a movement with his head, just Hanzo’s eyes snapping on to him with obvious irritation. Jesse smiled sharply. Jackpot.

“How very observant of you,” Hanzo said dryly.

Jesse scooted on the desk a few inches, just enough to lean over and lightly punch Hanzo on the shoulder. Hanzo looked up at him in askance. “Aw, c’mon Han, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. You look great for nearly fifty!”

Alright, so Jesse knew _damn _well that Hanzo was only three years older than Genji, and therefore only two years older than Jesse’s thirty-five. If it weren’t for the white hair at his temples, Hanzo would easily pass for a twenty-something. A pretty fit twenty-something, at that. Wasn’t going to stop him, though.

“Fifty—I am thirty-seven!” Interestingly, despite his obvious outrage Hanzo didn’t blush. At least, not on his face. Jesse could see the slight red flush tinging his neck from beneath his long-sleeved shirt. Jesse victoriously took a mental note before pushing him further.

“Oh, I get it,” Jesse whispered conspiratorially. “And how long have you been thirty-seven?”

“What is that supposed to—since March!” The red was slowly growing more intense, climbing up the column of his neck. It was like watching a thermometer! Shit, he could already feel the air charging up.

“Look, there ain’t no shame in gettin’ older. Everyone does, sooner or later. Reinhardt’s more youthful than half of the young folk I know! No offense meant.”

“Offense? Why would I take offense?”

“Well, ‘cause you’re in the sooner rather than later group.” 

Up until then, Hanzo’s shoulders had steadily tensed, arms and legs gathering closer to his center of mass as if he were anticipating a fight at any moment—which was entirely possible, if Hanzo wanted to start something. It was about half the reason Jesse had subtly angled the desk between him and Hanzo, just for that extra barrier of protection. But then, all a sudden, the tension and the anticipation just disappeared. Evaporated. As if that electric feel to the air never even existed. Without any perceptible shift in posture or even breathing, the whole atmosphere around Hanzo just _changed_. How the hell did he do that?!

“Very funny, McCree,” Hanzo said in a tone that made it clear he found it anything but. “Finish your inventory so you can sign and leave me in peace.”

Disconcerted, Jesse didn’t bother being difficult, opting to instead count through his boxes as he puzzled over the mystery. He only made it through another three boxes before he was interrupted.

“Olympus, this is Tracer.” 

Jesse looked up to see Lena’s profile picture on the computer screen. A map of Europe was in the same window, a dot flashing over where Jesse knew Eichenwald to be.

Hanzo pressed a button on the keyboard. “Tracer, this is Olympus.”

“Wha—Is that you, Hanzo? Where’s Winston?”

Hanzo closed his eyes and Jesse could practically see him counting to ten. “Tracer, I know that this is a secure channel, but you might at least _try _to maintain operational security.”

“Er, my bad. What’s your call sign again?”

“It is Storm.” Jesse started scooting closer to the workstation again, curious about Lena’s report. “Tesla is currently assisting Mercy. He left me to monitor the channel while he is occupied.”

“Alright, then! Just calling in to say that we landed in Eich—er, I mean, at the objective. The readings are fine and the team’s already disembarked. We’ll call in again in an hour or when Don Quixote finds his new windmill, whichever comes first.”

“That is a good copy, Tracer, thank—“

Jesse quickly leaned over and batted Hanzo’s arm away to press the button himself, ignoring Hanzo’s indignant stare. “Does Reinhardt know you’re callin’ him that?”

“Jesse!” Lena squealed.

Hanzo huffed. “Does no one practice proper protocol?”

“What’re you doing cooped up with Storm, love? You two finally getting along?”

Jesse glanced at Hanzo and _wow _he didn’t know someone could look so threatening in reading glasses. “Sure, somethin’ like that.”

Hanzo shoved Jesse away from the microphone button, sliding him across the desk and almost to the floor if Jesse hadn’t caught himself. “He was actually just leaving, as he has finished inventorying his new equipment. Thank you for checking in, Tracer. Olympus, out.”

“No, wait--!” Jesse frowned as Hanzo ended the call. “…You know she’s not gonna stay in the Lark, now, right?”

“What do you mean?” Hanzo was refusing to look in his direction, making quite a show of paying very close attention to the reports on his desk. “The mission brief said that she must remain with the aircraft and monitor the channels. We should not have idle chatter on official channels.”

“Except Lena has the attention span of a sugar glider. The only reason she didn’t start an arctic expedition last mission is because Winston had her on the line the whole time.”

Finally, Hanzo looked up from his report, but only to stare at the monitor in thought. …Or something. It was like trying to interpret modern dance or some shit. He’d need a damn dictionary to get a read on this man. 

“…Is it too late to call her back?”

“Probably.” 

Hanzo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Now _that _one was a motion Jesse was familiar with, even if Hanzo didn’t seem to openly acknowledge frustration unless it was with himself. Or maybe he just didn’t acknowledge it in front of Jesse? Also an interesting thought. 

“Don’t feel bad, Han, plenty of old folks are outta practice with their social graces.” Jesse didn’t bother holding back a laugh when Hanzo glared up at him from over the rim of his reading glasses.

“Agents McCree and Shimada?” Jesse looked up in surprise at the ethereal feminine voice coming from the ceiling.

“Athena? How’s it goin’, sugarplum?”

“It is going well, Agent McCree. Winston advised me to inform you that there is an unauthorized individual at the main gate.”

Jesse frowned. “A what now?”

“Unauthorized as in, a mail delivery service?” Hanzo asked thoughtfully. “The next delivery is not scheduled until next Thursday.”

“Negative. The individual appears to be unarmed, although scans report high levels of artificial alterations.”

Hanzo pulled his glasses from his face, placing them gently on the desk. “Artificial alterations…?”

“She means metal bits,” Jesse said, wiggling the fingers of his prosthetic arm. “So, what, does Winston want us to bring out a shotgun and tell ‘em to get off our lawn?”

“That will not be necessary, Agent McCree. Winston merely directed that someone investigate the individual and discourage further exploration.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like he was sayin’ _no _to a shotgun.”

Hanzo_ tch_ed. “McCree, please. We will be right out, Athena. Is he at the main gate?”

“That is correct.”

“Wait a minute, _we_? Why do I gotta go?”

“She said both our names, McCree.”

“Yeah, but I got a sixty million bounty on my head. Can’t exactly go loan sugar to the neighbors, let alone advertise my good looks to mysterious strangers.”

“Then stay out of sight and provide backup as necessary.” Hanzo stood and pushed his chair into the desk, wasting no time in exiting the office.

“I didn’t even finish countin’ my new bullets,” he pouted, frowning at his crate.

“McCree!”

“Okay, okay, fine!” He shouted, snatching his hat from the monitor and tugging it on his head. “Don’t get your britches in a bunch.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo tugged at his sleeve as he strode confidently through the Watchpoint’s main gate, eyeing the lone man standing in the road. He was young, certainly no older than twenty-five, dressed in vivid yellows and greens, which contrasted well with his darker skin. His smile was broad as he waved at Hanzo, teeth extremely white.

“Can you see ‘em?” McCree’s voice asked over the comm in his ear.

“Yes, I can see him.”

“He look dangerous?” 

Hanzo swept a critical eye over the stranger, noting his large, lime-green backpack and the strange contraption encasing his legs. It was possible that there were weapons concealed within the backpack, but it would take time to retrieve, so there was little threat. The extensive metal encasing his legs—that must be the ‘artificial alterations’ Athena referred to—may possibly be fitted for combat purposes. From what he could tell at this distance, it seemed to be some sort of brace that ended in skates. Skates with hard-light blades, at that, Hanzo realized as the man started to glide up the road towards him, cheery blue light sparking underneath his feet.

“It is not immediately clear,” Hanzo muttered to McCree. Raising his voice, “Hello. I noticed that you have been out here for quite some time. Are you lost?” 

The young man didn’t frown, per se, but his smile wasn’t quite as broad as it was a moment before. He opened his mouth and fast syllables spilled out, rapid and rhythmic. Hanzo hummed unhappily. He didn’t recognize the language, although he thought it wouldn’t be out of place in the markets of Gibraltar—not that that narrowed it down by much. 

“Do you speak English?”

The young man laughed. “Not good, no. Speak Português, Español.”

Hanzo nodded and raised a finger as a signal to wait and tapped on his comm with his other hand. “He does not speak English or any other language I am familiar with. I think he may be a local. Possibly a backpacker.”

“D’you know what he does speak?”

“Portuguese and Spanish. Unless Winston or perhaps Dr. Ziegler can—“

“Won’t need to break out the brains, I can speak Spanish just fine.”

“Is it wise to expose yourself to a stranger?”

“Ha, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that! Might be able to pay off my bounty.”

“McCree.”

“Ease up, Han, I’m sure it won’t—“ 

Hanzo turned, realizing he was hearing McCree’s voice through the air instead of his ear piece, to see McCree frozen mid-step at the gate, eyes wide. 

“Holy shit. Lúcio?” His gaze snapped to Hanzo. “You didn’t tell me we had an _international pop star_ on our doorstep!”

Confused, Hanzo turned to the young man, who was still grinning blissfully. He certainly did not _look _like someone of global fame. He looked back at McCree. “Come again?”

The young man skated closer, hand extended, perpetual smile still friendly. “Hello!” He said in lightly accented, if somewhat nasal, English. “My name is Lúcio Correia dos Santos! Pleasure to… ah…” He paused and tilted his head, his high tail of dreadlocks swaying with the motion. “Ah! Pleasure to meet you!”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

When Hanzo only stared at Lúcio’s hand in confusion, Jesse shoved his way between the two, enthusiastically shaking the pop star’s hand. ⟪M’name’s Jesse McCree. Said you speak Spanish?⟫

Lúcio’s eyes lit up. ⟪Yeah, I do! And Portuguese as well, but it looks like the Brazilian variety is pretty different from these Europeans.⟫

Jesse laughed. ⟪Yeah, gotta be careful with all these regional variations, especially in Spanish. This one time in Colombia—⟫

“McCree. What is he doing here? Who is he?”

“Who _is _he? Was it you or me that spent the past decade in hidin’? This is Lúcio! The Lúcio!” At Hanzo’s blank look, Jesse nearly groaned and pointed at the symbol on Lúcio’s shirt—a minimalistic cartoon frog head with headphones. “The DJ? First Brazilian artist to reach double platinum?” Hanzo shook his head. “Ugh, _Genji _would know.”

“Do not be so dramatic. If he is so famous, what is he doing here? And alone at that? It seems suspicious.”

“You and Torbjorn are gettin’ more alike every day.” Jesse turned back to Lúcio. ⟪What brings you out here to Gibraltar? Especially way up here? Are you on tour or somethin’?⟫

⟪Nah, my world tour actually just ended a few weeks ago, but I was feeling a bit restless. Wanted to do more than music, you know? Gotta find that inspiration in the world.⟫

⟪What, so like, you just seein’ the sights? Workin’ out that bit of wanderlust?⟫

⟪Oh, no, more like social activism.⟫

⟪Yeah, that makes sense. Hero of Río, out to spread love and hope to the world? Somethin’ like that?⟫

⟪That sums it up pretty good!⟫

⟪Still don’t answer why you’re out in Gibraltar of all places. Ain’t much happens on this little island.⟫

Lúcio laughed and Jesse could feel his cheeks ache as he smiled in response. Damn, this kid was infectious! ⟪Hey, I didn’t pick the base for the Recall⟫

Even as alarm seized his brain, Jesse was sure not to let his smile drop. His stomach didn’t take the same precautions. ⟪The… Recall?⟫

⟪Yeah! One of your agents filled me in on all the details. I always looked up to Overwatch when I was a kid. Doing my part to make the world a better place just seems like the right thing to do, y’know?⟫

“Oh fuck.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“What! How could he know that we are here?”

Jesse lifted his hat briefly, running his other hand through his hair. “Look, I dunno Han. I’ll just… keep him occupied in the kitchen. Make sure he don’t bolt or nothin’, I just need you to go grab Winston—“

“There is no need,” The gorilla himself announced, ambling towards them at a rapid pace. “Athena informed me that the two of you let our, um, _guest _into the base?”

“He knows Overwatch is operatin’ out of here!” Jesse hissed, conscious that Lúcio was just on the other side of the door. “We couldn’t just let him go.”

“What? How did he know we were here?”

“That was my sentiment as well,” Hanzo commented dryly.

“This is a critical data breach. We may have to relocate our entire base!”

“Hold up, it may not be that bad. Let’s just… talk to him, alright? Figure out who exactly sold us out and work from there. For all we know, Genji is just pulling a prank.”

“And risk Dr. Ziegler’s wrath?” Winston snorted. “That seems statistically unlikely.”

“I was tryin’ to be optimistic.”

“Try harder.” Hanzo ordered.

The trio entered the common kitchen-slash-dining area to find Lúcio sitting cheerily at the table, looking around with a level of wonderment inappropriate for the simple kitchen. At the sound of the door opening, he turned, already grinning, before his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. ⟪Is that a gorilla?⟫

At the same time, Winston gasped “Is that Lúcio?”

Jesse grinned at Hanzo. “See? He’s not even from this _planet _and he knows about Lúcio!” Hanzo ignored him. Remembering what Lúcio said, Jesse cleared his throat discreetly. “You, uh, don’t speak Spanish, do you Winston?”

“No, my lingual education did have a considerable focus on Latin, however, since—“

“Sounds good, I’ll translate.” Jesse pulled out a chair from the table, spinning it on a leg so he could rest his arms on the back before switching to Spanish. ⟪Yup, he is in fact a gorilla. From the moon, no less. Think he’d prefer it if you referred to him as a scientist, though.⟫ Jesse aimed a charming wink at the Brazilian. ⟪His name is Winston and he’s got a few questions for you.⟫

Jesse casually removed his hat and dropped it carefully on the table, trying to decide how to phrase his line of investigation. He didn’t want Lúcio to panic or think something’s wrong, although either reaction was probably warranted. ⟪So we’re pleased as punch to see you here, but we think you were chattin’ with one of the agents we lost contact with. Winston was curious how you knew to come out here to Gibraltar.⟫

⟪Well, like I said earlier, I just got off my world tour and I was anxious to do something with myself. I was worn out from the road, though, I wasn’t ready for a charity tour or anything like that. Of course, I always try to help out around my community, but I felt like I just wasn’t doing as much as I could be doing—as I should be doing. You get that?⟫

⟪Yeah, I’m followin’. Lemme translate real fast.⟫ He looked back at the other two. “I asked him how he found out about the Recall, and so far he’s just told me that it was after his world tour ended.”

“That is awfully little for how much he spoke,” Hanzo said suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

“I’m summarizin’!” To Lúcio, ⟪Please, continue.⟫

⟪Yeah, so, I was poking around online looking for volunteer opportunities with the Peace Corps and stuff, but nothing was really resonating with me. Then, out of nowhere, I get an email from one of your agents! Said that you guys had been watching me since the revolt against Vishkar and thought I had what it takes to join up! I was really amazed because I thought Overwatch had got shut down—⟫

⟪Woah, wait, hold up. Who sent you the email?⟫

⟪Oh, I don’t know their name, said they had to use a code phrase for security reasons—which I totally understand, you guys don’t want just anybody showing up and crowding up the place! They called themselves Shadow, if that means anything to you.⟫

Fuck. Of course it fucking meant something to him. Fucking _Sombra_, the mystery profile on the Blackwatch server. 

Jesse was careful to allow only a moderate amount of surprise and confusion show, mindful that completely shutting down was just as big a tell as any other. He quickly went through his options: tell Winston everything about Blackwatch? Out of the question. Tell Winston about the Sombra profile? Can’t without exposing Blackwatch. Sombra was likely a deactivated Blackwatch agent who received the Recall along with everyone else and decided to act as an unofficial recruiter. Not that it wasn’t fucking _suspicious as hell_, but he needed time to group up with Team Pretend We’re Not Associated with Blackwatch before making any drastic calls. Guess that left playing the fool. Gotta love the classics.

“So, sounds like Lúcio got an email from an anonymous source who called themselves Shadow,” He drawled, twisting slightly to address Winston. “Said they were an agent. You know anyone who goes by that?”

“Shadow?” Winston asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Uh, no. I don’t know any agents who go by that. Although since so many went into hiding after the Fall, I suppose it’s not impossible.” Good ol’ Winston, always jumping to the right conclusions. “We could ask Athena.”

Hearing her cue, the AI spoke from the ceiling. “Athena online. What is your request, Winston?”

“Do we have any records of agents by the call sign Shadow? Or alias, I suppose. Specifically the agents who received a Recall invitation.”

“Retrieving data…” 

Jesse had to force himself to breathe as they waited for Athena to complete her database search. 

“Negative.” Shit. Was that good news or bad news for Overwatch? “There are no recorded aliases or call signs under the name ‘Shadow’. Shall I expand the search to agents outside of the Recall?”

To Jesse’s surprise, it was Hanzo that answered. “That will not be necessary. If they did not receive an invitation to the Recall, they could not have known about it.”

Winston nodded his agreement before looking at Jesse. “Is this Shadow the one who told him about Gibraltar?”

⟪Was Shadow the one who gave you all the contact info?⟫ Jesse relayed.

⟪Yeah,⟫ Lúcio nodded, his tail bouncing with the rhythm.

“He said yes.”

Winston leveled an unimpressed look at him. “I may not be able to speak fluent Spanish, McCree, but I can tell the difference between ‘yes’ and ‘no’.” 

Jesse shrugged.

“What do we tell him?” Hanzo asked. “It is too much of a security risk to accept him into our ranks.”

“Yeah,” Jesse laughed, “cause you came with good recommendations.”

“I did not have a choice in the matter!”

“I see your concern, Hanzo,” Winston interrupted gently, “but McCree also has a point. We need the manpower.”

“Is that what I said?” Jesse asked.

“Plus, it’d be just as large a security risk to put him back out on the street.”

“I _really _don’t think that’s what I said.”

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Winston, are you only saying this because you wish to have a pop star on our team?”

“No!” Winston’s eyes immediately darted away from the others in the kitchen, looking at anything that wasn’t Hanzo. Jesse cleared his throat, and Winston grumbled. “…maybe a little.”

Shaking his head, Jesse held his hands up. “Alright, let’s be reasonable folks, we can’t just have him on as a chef or some such, he needs to actually have a skill set if we wanna take him on.”

Hanzo’s lip curled in a sneer. “What skill set could a musician have that is appropriate for combat? Does he intend to sing our enemies to sleep?”

⟪Ah, excuse me.⟫

Jesse spun to face his guest, mentally slapping himself for ignoring the kid. ⟪Woops, sorry Lúcio, I didn’t mean to be rude. See, there’s a bit of a snag. Shadow didn’t exactly, uh, give us a heads up that you were headed our way. We didn’t have any time to update your file. We know the basics, of course, and you certainly got the charm and charisma of a natural leader.⟫

“McCree,” Hanzo asked apprehensively. “What are you telling him?”

“Let a man work!” He tossed over his shoulder before pressing on. ⟪But there’s a few things you oughta know before we formally accept you, in the interest in full disclosure. First, we aren’t exactly…endorsed. The Petras Act is still in full effect. We’re workin’ to make the world a better place, but it’s behind the scene work. If you’re hopin’ to use this as a promo, then you’d best walk now.⟫

Lúcio grinned again—not that it really ever turned to a frown, this kid just worked in degrees of a smile—and puffed his chest out proudly. ⟪You think I didn’t know that coming here? Being illegal is how I know you’re serious! Throwing Vishkar out of the favelas wasn’t ‘endorsed’, either_._⟫

Well that’s a healthy view of the legal system. Jesse smiled mischievously. ⟪I see you’re a man after my own heart.⟫ Lúcio beamed. ⟪Here’s the other bit you need to know: we’re workin’ bare bones. The more streamlined we keep ourselves, the easier it is to stay under the radar. So what sets you apart from all our other applicants?⟫

Tilting his head, Lúcio’s smile became a little more confused, a little more unsure of himself. That’s it, take the bait. This is an interview for a job, not hobby activism. ⟪Um, I lead the Revolt in Río.⟫

Jesse nodded seriously. ⟪Yeah, that was a hell of a thing to see on the holoscreen. Not to play it down, but honestly? That kind of experience is the baseline. What I need to know is what skills you have. Where would you fit on our team of fighters?⟫

And then he was beaming again. ⟪Oh, that’s what you meant! I’m an audio medic.⟫

⟪An audio what now?⟫

⟪I’ll show you!⟫ Lúcio stood—kind of glided, really, with his skates—from his seat, and snatched his pack from the floor. Hanzo was immediately advancing on him, clear threat on his face. Lúcio froze before smiling apologetically at Jesse. ⟪Sorry, should have given you a heads up, huh? My kit is in my bag. Is it okay if I dig it out?⟫ 

Jesse inclined his head, meaningfully tilting his head at Hanzo the second Lúcio turned back to his bag.

Hanzo took a few stilted steps back, still extremely tense. “McCree, what’s going on?”

“I’m interviewing him.” Jesse said calmly, eyes never leaving the kid.

“We are not accepting volunteers!” Hanzo hissed. The air was beginning to feel heavy again. Tense. Coiled.

Jesse frowned sharply, but didn’t allow his eyes to shift away from Lúcio. “Who died and elected you leader of this outfit?”

Disgruntled, Hanzo turned to Winston. “You cannot seriously be contemplating accepting some… celebrity into Overwatch?”

“Well,” Winston said, shifting on his knuckles. “It’s not like he hasn’t seen some form of combat before.”

“I do not think a mobs of, of,” Hanzo tossed a hand in the air, struggling for words. “Of _fangirls _qualifies.”

Jesse spoke up, painfully aware of the tense atmosphere. He couldn’t afford to give Lúcio any hint that they weren’t a united front. “Hanzo, aren’t you familiar with the Vishkar Revolt?”

“No!” He spat. 

Jesse finally allowed himself to glance away from the kid, startled at Hanzo’s behavior. The man in question had closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. When he opened them again, his voice was much steadier, although no less dangerous. At least it didn’t feel like a hurricane was bearing down on them anymore. 

“Should I be?”

“It was all over the news,” Jesse explained, training his focus on Lúcio again. “The residents of the Río favelas organized a protest against Vishkar Corporation’s policies—“

“Wait,” Hanzo commanded. “Perhaps I know it by a different name. Were these the Riots of Río? When the people of the illegal communities decided that they did not want running water and electricity provided by the government?”

“It was a little more complicated than that. The government had contracted Vishkar to do all the improvements, and they ended up issuing quite a few local ordinances that made life difficult for the people.”

Hanzo huffed. “Such as the curfew? It was an active construction zone. It was for their safety, not suppression.” In his peripherals, Jesse could see Hanzo gesture sharply at Lúcio, who was fiddling with some sort of Bluetooth speaker. He could feel the tension building between them again. “And you are telling me this man was supposedly involved?”

“More like the leader.”

“Even worse! If he has such an intrinsic disregard for authority, he has no place in joining us. What if he decides to announce Overwatch’s return because of some minor offense? What if—“ Hanzo cut himself off, confusion warring with his righteous anger before fading into a serene smile. 

Well that was a funny thing. Jesse turned around to find Lúcio holding a large speaker in his hands. Music filled the air, replacing the angry electricity surrounding Hanzo with an easy joy. A steady pulsing beat seemed to thrum through his bones and soothe the aches in his joints. It was nice. Lúcio pointed at it excitedly and Jesse smiled back dopily. _So nice_. The DJ laughed and switched off the speaker. Jesse was disappointed to find the calm, warm feeling slipping away with the sound.

Then he froze. Did that… what was that? “Did y’all feel that?” He asked aloud.

“I… yes?” Hanzo said uncertainly, looking disturbed.

Lúcio fiddled with his speaker shyly, still smiling softly. ⟪I kind of, uh, liberated this tech from Vishkar. Well, I got their prototype anyway. They installed a bunch of speakers like this around the favelas and would play recordings of whatever new rule they invented for the day.⟫ He looked up at Jesse, dark eyes serious for the first time. ⟪They wanted to control people through sound! It was _awful_, watching little kids and our elders follow every instruction to the letter without a thought. Some of us were more resistant to it, so we destroyed all the ones we could get our hands on. I kept one though. Don’t get me wrong, what Vishkar did was messed up, but I thought, what if I didn’t try to control peoples thought? What if I could use it to help people feel better?⟫

Jesse’s eyes widened, connecting the dots. ⟪You doped us up with sound waves? What makes you think controllin’ folk’s emotions is better than controllin’ their thoughts?⟫

⟪Well, I ask permission, for one thing. It’s no different than giving people medicine when they’re sick. Here, I can play a song that’ll make you feel like you could climb a mountain!⟫

“He says he could play another song, make us feel like champions. Y’all okay with that?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Winston agreed, inner scientist eagerly eyeing the new technology. Hanzo narrowed his eyes, but grunted his assent.

“Alright. ⟪Let’s hear it, then.⟫ Lúcio hit a button on the speaker and a song different than the serene tune before played out. 

He… he knew this song. It was one Jesse had heard on Lúcio’s hit album, although hearing it on his tinny headphones paled in comparison to what he was experiencing now. On his headphones, it was catchy and upbeat, good enough to make it to his workout playlist. Through this speaker, it was a thrill ride, it was riding a half-tamed mustang, it was free falling without a parachute! Adrenaline pumped through his veins and every breath felt like victory, tasted like glory, sounded like his next chance. He could do damn near anything he set his mind to, he could fight through any pain, triumph over any obstacle, conquer—

The song clicked off, and Jesse blinked into the silence. Beside him, Hanzo shook his head slowly, eyes wide.

“Fascinating!” Winston enthused.

⟪That’s pretty impressive.⟫ Jesse said cautiously, still trying to wrap his mind around his manipulated emotions.

⟪Thanks! I’ve been experimenting a lot about what sounds produce what emotions and reactions. The one you just heard? It actually accelerates the oxygenation process in your body!⟫ Lúcio bounced on his skates, grinning madly. ⟪You can run longer, lift more, all sorts of stuff! That’s why I call myself an audio medic.⟫

Jesse nodded slowly. ⟪Wouldn’t it affect anyone in hearing range?⟫

Lúcio paused. ⟪Ah, yeah. It’s not as big a drawback as it sounds like, though! The effectiveness drops off pretty rapidly the further you get from my speaker. More than ten meters away from me and you’ll only get to listen to my great tunes instead of getting the extra benefits. So, maybe not so good for hand-to-hand fights, but medics aren’t really front line material anyway, you know?⟫

⟪Wow, that’s… really amazing Lúcio. Lemme talk to my associates real quick.⟫ He shot Lúcio a reassuring smile and slowly turned to the other two. “We gotta keep him.”

“After that display?” Hanzo asked sharply, apparently recovered from his shock.

“Yes, quite riveting!” Winston enthused. “Excellent use of auditory science. Uh, I can’t say I can hypothesize any combat application, though.”

“Think about it,” Jesse encouraged. “This kid has found a way to influence emotions with nothing but sound. Can you imagine what he could do with that?”

Shadows gathered on Hanzo’s face. “Inspire blood thirst and have us turn on each other?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that? Tactically, this could be a huge boon. He could single handedly provide crowd control if we needed to operate in an urban environment.”

“Or produce hundreds of casualties by inducing cardiac arrest.”

Jesse threw one arm in the air, the other still slung around the chair back. “I’m not sayin’ we let him loose on the populace! Obviously, we’d have Doc check out his tech and make sure it’s… well, it’s probably not legal. But not dangerous, at least! She’s a pacifist, so you know she won’t let it fly if it’s shady.”

“…Does this contraption fly as well?”

Fuckin’ idioms. “Dammit, I mean she won’t give it her approval if she thinks it might hurt someone.”

Hanzo shifted on his feet, eyes traveling from Lúcio to the speaker to Jesse in a cycle. “I am deeply uncomfortable with this.”

Winston cleared his throat. “I think I agree with McCree. This is simply too large an opportunity to ignore. Um, let’s get Dr. Ziegler to check it out _before _we say he’s officially accepted.” Jesse rose an eyebrow at Winston. If he was gonna make excuses, he’d best take ownership of it. “Just to verify his health. And, um, his invention.”

Jesse held Winston’s gaze for a few moments longer, until he decided that the gorilla wasn’t bluffing. Not like Winston could lie his way out of a paper bag anyway. “Alrighty then. If you’re sure.” He picked his hat up from the table, placing it on his head with a sly grin. Lúcio tilted his head with a confused smile. 

⟪So, how would you like to meet our resident doctor?⟫

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story choice might raise questions so I figure I'd preemptively answer it-- Lucio's VA is one of the few who doesn't know his character's native language so I thought it'd be cheeky to have Lucio not automatically speak English.


	17. Rally

“What’s the story with the castle?” Lena asked, craning her head back in an attempt to view the top of the castle over the wall. 

Genji tried to follow her line of sight as well, but he could only see the tallest of turrets peeking over the buildings in front of them. He returned his focus to stepping through the metal carnage on the road, knowing that they would all have a much better view of the castle once they reached the main bridge.

“What would you like to know?” Reinhardt asked from the front of the group.

“Like, how old is it? Why was it built? How did the Crusaders end up all the way out here when Stuttgart is so close?”

“Heh, I know some of those answers, but I am rusty on my history. I think it was rebuilt in the late eighteen hundreds—“

“That’s it? It looks _way _older!”

“Some of it is! The oldest parts of the castle were built before even the original crusaders. It is why the outside looks as it does, stacked like a wedding cake! The older ones were much more, ah, what’s the word? Like Torbjörn?”

“Angry? Grouchy?” Lena asked, winking at Reinhardt. Next to Genji—and therefore behind Lena—Brigitte glared at her.

“Perhaps Reinhardt was thinking of ‘stocky’,” Zenyatta suggested politely.

“Er, yes, stocky,” Reinhradt agreed awkwardly.“Short, but broad and powerful! I think its original purpose was as a residence, but it was shared between several lords. They could not afford to build it on their own, you see. It was a common practice at the time. I do not know much of the history between its construction and when the Bavarian Palace Department inherited the land in the early two-thousands. It was not much more than a tourist destination until the BPD agreed to loan it to the German military in the winters. The Crusaders used it as a training post, not because we needed a castle, but because the terrain made training much more worthwhile! We would have to run up and down the mountain in full armor.”

“Did you really?” Lena asked. “I’m getting worn out just climbing this bit of hill!” 

She wasn’t kidding. The past hundred meters had been so steep, Genji wondered how vehicles could even drive it. Of course, the road probably existed before cars did. Still, he could hardly imagine running up and down the entire mountain. …Okay, he _could_, but he didn’t want to. Especially not with an extra seventy kilograms of plate armor.

Reinhardt laughed. “It was not my favorite exercise. We came here every winter for five years, until the Crisis broke out. Not so great a need for training when you are earning combat experience every day.” He kicked at a couple of Splicer units in the road, causing them to skitter several meters to the side. “Just around this bend and you will witness Eichenwald Castle in all her glory!”

Not willing to wait, Lena blinked away, blue light tracing her path, and reappeared at the top of the hill. “Wow!”

“Aren’t you from England?” Brigitte asked, giving a quick hop to readjust the pack on her shoulders. “These ruins can’t possibly be the best you’ve ever seen.”

“Just because _I _can appreciate historical significance doesn’t mean—“

“Miss Oxton,” the warning in Zenyatta’s tone was evident.

“…sorry, Zen.” 

Genji chuckled as he finally cleared the crest of the hill. To his right, Eichenwald Castle towered above them. Accustomed to the dignified wooden castles and glass skyscrapers of his homeland, Genji had trouble understanding how such heavy gray stone could stand without crushing itself under its own weight. Moss and ivy crawled up the sides of the castle, tentatively wrapping around the few narrow windows. Some sections of the ramparts were damaged, broken stone long fallen away. It was most obvious on the right side of the castle, of course, as it was the side that faced the only avenue of approach. A stone bridge arched across a deep gorge, leading up to the castle’s main entrance. High above them, an eagle wheeled through the sky.

Having his fill of the view, Genji looked at the group around him. They had all paused, stopped in their tracks to admire the scene. Brigitte looked grim, but Reinhardt’s eyes were glittering with unmistakable joy. Strangely, Lena wasn’t facing the castle. He peered over her shoulder only to recoil at the flash of bright light.

“Oh! Sorry, Genji, didn’t know you’d want in on the selfie. Wanna have another go?”

“No, that is fine Lena. I am sure you got my good side with that one. Ah, you’re not going to post that anywhere, are you?”

“Nah, Winston would have my head if I blew our cover. I was just going to upload it to Athena’s servers, so we have some memories to look back on when we make it big!”

“I see. Perhaps we should take a group photo, in that case.”

“That is a wonderful idea!” Reinhardt boomed.

“Is this a vacation or a mission?” Brigitte nearly shouted, digging her heels into the ground as Reinhardt attempted to herd her to the rest of the group.

Master hummed. “It may be in our best interests to complete our objective before taking photos.”

“Nonsense, Master! We are simply cataloging our progress.”

Lena giggled and darted over a pile of rubble. She climbed to the top before carefully balancing her phone between two rocks. “Okay, bunch up!” 

Easily the tallest of the group, Reinhardt stood behind everyone. Master stood directly in front of him, beckoning Brigitte to stand closer on his left. Genji took his own space beside Master, looking expectantly at the camera. 

“Oh, wait, everyone shift to the left. No, my left! More… more… _little _bit more… perfect! Okay, three second timer, everyone ready?” She tapped her phone and raced back to the group, coming to a sudden halt beside Genji. “Cheers!”

Just as the countdown nearly hit zero, Genji quickly moved his hand behind Master’s head, throwing up rabbit ears. Lena likewise struck a pose, shooting finger guns at the camera. Genji couldn’t see Brigitte out the side of his visor, but he could hear her surprised shout. They held themselves like that for a moment until Lena raced back to the camera. She gave them all a thumbs up, beaming. “Looks excellent! Thanks everybody!”

“Okay, seriously, no more detours or distractions!” Brigitte demanded, yelling over her shoulder as she made her way across the bridge. “We’re marching right through the doors of that castle, grabbing any armor left lying around, and _leaving_.”

“As you wish, _fraulein_!” Reinhardt shouted cheerfully, leading the rest of their group across the bridge. Lena zipped ahead to the monstrous slabs of wood that served as the doors of the castle before dashing back to Master’s side.

It was easier said than done to actually walk through the entrance. At a glance, Genji could see that the doors, which were only a fraction smaller than the city gate’s, had been shattered apart at the bottom by what must have been an immensely powerful battering ram. The upper third of the doors still held, meters above their heads, but it was the mountain of debris beneath it that currently blocked their path.

“Er, any side entrances to this one?” Lena asked.

“Perhaps,” Reinhardt replied thoughtfully. “They may be in no better condition than this.”

“I could scout from the top of the pile,” Genji suggested, sizing up the wreckage. “Once I have an initial visual, we could decide whether there may be anything of value inside.”

Reinhardt chuckled. “Oh, he is in there, to be sure!” Genji turned to look up questioningly at Reinhardt, but didn’t get the chance to press his curiosity. “Be careful while climbing. I would not want your guardian angel to become an _avenging _angel.”

Genji huffed a laugh. “She would not actually harm me.”

“I believe Reinhardt is concerned about his own well-being if you were to come to harm,” Master intoned. “Quite rightfully, I’m afraid.” 

Genji opened his mouth to protest that Angela was too much of a pacifist, but Lena interjected first.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “Doc can be a right terror when her patients are at stake! I can only imagine what she’d feel if someone she loved got hurt.” 

Well. Genji supposed he had to concede that point. She may not fight with violence, but Angela was an expert at making other’s lives a living hell if they got in the way of her doing the Right Thing.

Ignoring the beginnings of a grumble from an impatient Brigitte, Genji tested his weight carefully on the massive pile of rubble in the doorway before scaling it. Pieces of stone and shards of wood trickled down as he climbed. He doubted the pile would hold under Reinhardt’s weight, or even Brigitte’s and it was too steep and precarious for Lena or Zenyatta, but at least from here he could get a better idea of the condition inside the castle.

It was dark. Beams of sunlight that pierced the wounded ceiling only served to intensify the shadows clinging to the hidden corners and deep recesses of the castle. His attuned sensors could pick up the high-pitched chirps of bats in the rafters and the quiet skittering of rodents along the stone floors. There was even the steady wet drip of water echoing in the cavernous halls, but his sight could provide no visual cues. He tapped his visor, scrolling through the optic overlay options until shapes emerged from the darkness and colors receded from the world. Now he could see through gloom. 

In addition to the bats napping the day away and the rodents busily exploring, he could now see what amounted to a mass grave of omnic remains. Every single type of omnic produced during the Crisis seemed to be present, in every single state imaginable. One Spyder tank looked like it had walked off the production line only yesterday, barring the fading paint, but it was sprawled over a bastion unit that was partly melted and entirely scorched. Most units were in some state of partial or complete destruction and disassembly, to the point that it was impossible to tell which metal appendages belonged to any given omnic. It was… somewhat nauseating, if Genji were honest with himself. Which he rarely was without prompting.

“There must have been quite the battle here!” he exclaimed.

It was Reinhardt who called back up. “Yes, this is the site of the Crusader’s Last Stand. So many of the battalion perished in the fighting that it was forced into disbandment.” 

Genji returned his gaze to the dead omnics, finally recognizing the scorched, crushed, and melted metal as damage caused by Crusader war hammers. Even for a battalion sized element, though, there seemed too many dead omnics. How could anything survive an onslaught against this many war machines?

“Is there a path?” Brigitte shouted. 

Ah. Yes. How were they going to explore the castle when so many probably-radioactive corpses littered the floors?

“I am… not sure.” Genji admitted. He turned briefly, flinching at the bright outdoors before his visor automatically adjusted. “I cannot see the ground for the number of omnic bodies. I do not know if it is possible.” 

Beneath him, the team was silent. If they were like Genji, they were feeling the frustration of traveling so far and being so close to the answer to their problems, and still having it impossibly out of reach. Fortunately, they were not like Genji.

Brigitte sighed. “Guess we should go get the Geigermeter. We should see what level of radiation we’re dealing with before building any solutions. It might be that we’re making a chicken out of a feather and there’s no radiation at all. Or vice versa and we’re dead within the month.”

“Oh, _real _inspiring.” Lena said sarcastically.

Once again, Master ended the fight before it could begin. “Perhaps I can volunteer myself to obtain the readings? I will not suffer from radiation in the same way that humans do.”

“Master, is that wise? It can still cause you great harm.”

Brigitte scoffed. “You can’t possibly be comparing skin melting from bones and a little fried circuitry, can you?”

“It is not ‘a little fried circuitry’,” Genji bit back, incensed. “That is his body!” And more than half of Genji’s own body, at this point.

Master lifted his hand. “Radiation can cause great harm to all beings. However, it will still cause me the least harm out of us all. Unless anyone has a better recourse, I believe that this is the most skillful approach.”

Here, Master gave a pointed look at Genji, who sighed noisily. “Very well, Master.”

Lena, who had been watching the exchange, gave a cheeky salute. “I’ll go grab the thing, then. Back in a flash!” And then she was gone, literally leaving a flash of blue behind. The team looked at each other with a look of ‘what can you do’ as they settled in for the doubtlessly short wait. Sure enough, not even a full minute had passed before Lena had returned, huffing and puffing. “That… mountain… is a… real… killer!” She gasped out, limply holding out the Geigermeter for Master to take.

“You are tired after that small hill?” Reinhardt asked in shock. “We shall have to double our leg workouts!”

The response was a unanimous and immediate, “NO”, with the exception of Master, who only chuckled. Not for the first time, Genji enviously wondered why the doctors hadn’t skipped installing pain receptors in his robotic appendages.

“Peace, everyone,” Msater said over the protests, turning the Geigermeter on, “I am sure Reinhardt only has your best interests at heart. Genji, do you see any alternative entrances from your perch? I am not sure if I could overcome this obstacle.”

Pausing to allow his visor to readjust to the dark, Genji peered at the lighter areas of the scene. Most of the light came from the partially-collapsed ceiling, but there were a few pools of light to his left that didn’t have an obvious source. “There may be an opening somewhere to our left?” He said uncertainly.

Heavy footsteps as Reinhardt left to investigate. “Yes! There is a hole in the wall here!” 

Master hummed happily and departed from Genji’s line of sight. Choosing to remain on the pile of rubble, Genji relied on his ears as he waited for his master to enter the castle. A steady, slow beeping indicated low radiation readings from the Geigermeter. The sound was muffled for a moment before reemerging clearer, accompanied by Master’s shadow on the wall. Master had entered the castle, Reinhardt following at a safe distance.

Behind Genji, he heard a scoff from Brigitte. He turned to see Lena mocking the other woman. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the only diplomatic peacemaker among them was currently exploring a radioactive wasteland. As Brigitte stomped up to Lena, he suddenly wished he had volunteered to explore the castle instead.

“Knock it off!” Brigitte said, leaning threateningly over the much smaller Lena.

“You knock it off!” Lena demanded as she pushed both hands against Brigitte to knock her back. Brigitte hardly even swayed at the effort. “You’ve been acting a right tosser since I landed us!”

“And you’ve been a snarky bitch!”

“Ah, ladies?” Genji asked uncertainly. They both looked up at him in irritation. Shit. He didn’t know how to prevent fights. He _started _fights. Or finished them! With more fighting! This was the _exact opposite_ of his skill set! And Iris have mercy they were still looking at him. Genji mentally scrambled for something to say. What would Master Zenyatta do? “Why don’t we talk about our issues maturely, and without insults?”

“She _is _my issue!” And it was really quite funny that they said it at the same time, along with the looks of disgust they threw at each other for daring to have the same thought.

“Ah, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” Genji tried.

Lena put her hands on her hips and cocked them to one side. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Because we are on the journey to resolving this anger. And it begins with, ah, the single step. Of talking with respect.” Brigitte’s eyebrows were raised skeptically and even Lena didn’t seem impressed. He sighed in frustration. 

Well. There was always Commander Reyes’ philosophy. 

“Fine, fight it out if you must. However, you _will _work out all your aggression here. Do it however you like, I will not stop you, but you only have until Master Zenyatta returns. Then these unprofessional actions will stop for good. Use your time wisely.” With that, he turned, pointedly searching for Master’s return. He could see his master carefully picking a path through the remains, pointing at which omnics were safe for Reinhardt to move. Who knew how long it would take them to finish the job. Genji worriedly looked over his shoulder.

Brigitte and Lena had squared off, slowly circling, each completely focused on their opponent. Privately, Genji had no idea how Lena could hope to challenge Brigitte. Not only was Brigitte taller and heavier, she was also significantly stronger than Lena. Stronger than most of the Overwatch team, in fact, with the exception of Reinhardt and Winston. Granted, Lena was much faster, but her attacks would amount to little more than rapid annoyances.

Perhaps Lena realized this as she sized up Brigitte, because she stopped her circling. “I don’t want to fight you, Brigitte” she announced.

Brigitte stood tall, her braid swaying with the movement. “Because you know you’ll lose?”

“Because it won’t solve anything!” Lena ruffled her hair in frustration, causing her already unruly hair to take on a wild look. “I… You’re right. I haven’t been fair to you. I can see that you’re really affected by visiting this place. It was… wrong of me to provoke you. But it’s like Zenyatta said! It’s okay to be upset! It’s _not _okay to take it out on us, your team! We’re here to help.”

Brigitte narrowed her eyes. “My team? Is that how I’m supposed to feel? With the way you’ve been acting?”

“Well… No, you’re right, I haven’t been a good teammate to you today.” This seemed to mollify Brigitte, whose shoulders finally relaxed a tiny fraction. Lena distractedly blew a lock of errant hair away from her eyes before continuing. “You’ve got to realize, though, you’re not the only one to be affected by the Crisis, visiting here especially. It… brings up a lot of sour memories. It was a rough time for all of us.” 

Immediately, Genji knew it was the wrong thing to say. The furious fire in Brigitte’s eyes that had dulled to annoyed embers blazed back to life.

“A ‘bad time’? For _all _of us?” Brigitte sneered. “What about you, Oxton? Little miss minister’s daughter got shipped out into the countryside during the Crisis, didn’t she?”

Lena made an outraged sound. “Miss minister’s daugh-- You’re bringing _my mum_ into this?!”

Brigitte barreled on, ignoring Lena. “Did you even see a bot in your safe little children’s home? Did your porridge go cold if you played outside for too long?” She shook her head and tutted. “Poor, _poor_, Lena Oxton. I can’t imagine the horrors you must have witnessed.”

“That’s uncalled for! I didn’t ask to be a child during the Crisis! I didn’t ask to be shipped away from my family so I could spend every night wondering if I’d wake up an orphan. You’re acting like I _should _have got it worse, but guess what? It wouldn’t make my feelings more valid! Especially compared to _you_. Can you even remember the Crisis?”

Brigitte stiffened. Her breath became heavy and uneven, as if she were trying to control a simmering rage just beneath the surface. Lena took a wary step back. 

“You’re right.” Brigitte began. “I can’t remember the Crisis. I can’t remember which of these houses I used to live in. I can’t remember my aunt, or my two cousins. I can’t remember what this city looked like before the attack.” Brigitte’s voice had started small, but grew with each word until she was nearly shouting. “But I can remember the screams. And I can remember my mother’s cries after she watched her sister die. I. Was. _Here_!” 

The silence was deafening. 

That was it it. The keystone. The unexpected missing piece for the puzzle of Brigitte. Of course, it made perfect sense given her behavior, but still….

Lena’s brows drew in confusion, then shot up as she understood. “Here…? You were in Eichenwald during the attack?”

“I don’t stutter.”

“But.. you and Torbjörn are Swedish?”

“Papa was off fighting in Overwatch, so my mom moved here with my aunt. It was supposed to be safer than home.”

Still trying to process, Lena’s eyelids fluttered as she blinked rapidly. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know--”

Brigitte cut her off with a snarl. “What, you need to know if someone’s been through a horrific experience before you treat them well?” Her lip curled. “Classy.”

“That’s not fair,” Lena said softly. “I knew to be worried for Reinhardt. None of us knew why you were so… upset. If you had just _told _us, we could’ve looked out for you, too.”

“I don’t want to be looked after,” Brigitte said dismissively.

“What we want and what we need aren’t always the same thing, love.”

Just like that, Brigitte’s anger returned. “Well then I don’t _need _to be looked after.”

“Why not?” Lena asked gently. “We could all use someone watching our six. Even someone as strong as Reinhardt.”

“_I’m_ supposed to be the one watching out! I’ve been watching out for Rein-- for years now!”

“And you don’t think he watches out for you?”

Brigitte paused. “It’s not the same.”

“Maybe more than you think.” There was a brief silence as Brigitte considered her words. “Besides. I know how vigilant you have to be for a guy like Reinhardt.” Lena chuckled, but sobered quickly. “Can you really look out for him right now? I’m not saying you’re incapable,” she said quickly before Brigitte could rally. “I know you can still do it. I’m just saying that… maybe you could use an extra hand when you’ve got a full plate.” Lena finished.

The gap in their conversation grew larger and larger. Brigitte surrendered no hint about her thoughts, only staring at Lena with a hard expression. Lena eventually raised her hands in appeasement. “If the answer’s no, that’s fine, I’m just trying to help.”

Another beat passed before Brigitte sighed. “…I guess you are, aren’t you?”

“Heh, emphasis on ‘trying’.” Lena gave a lopsided smile, then returned to her contrite expression. “Sorry for buggering it up before.”

Brigitte thrust out her hand abruptly, startling Lena. She barked a short laugh and gave a small smile that went miles to soften her features. “It’s behind us, Oxton.” Beaming, Lena recovered from her fright to enthusiastically shake Brigitte’s hand.

“I guess this makes us best friends forever!”

“Ugh, don’t push it,” but Brigitte was still smiling.

“See?” Genji asked smugly, incapable of resisting the urge to tease. He may have also been secretly, _intensely _relieved that no one had a black eye. Maybe. “That was not so hard, was it?”

Brigitte rolled her eyes. Already back to her old self, he could see. “Like you had a role in this.”

“I facilitated your reconciliation, did I not?” He glanced behind as he spoke, looking for any sign of Master or Reinhardt. They had turned a corner roughly halfway through the fight and had not yet returned, but Genji wasn’t concerned yet.

“You literally told us to fight it out!” Lena laughed.

“Ah, and see the great gains we have made this day! Clearly, my skill as a mediator is self-evident.”

“Clearly,” Brigitte agreed in a deadpan.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The euphoria of reconciliation slowly waned as the wait for Master and Reinhardt drew longer and longer. Brigitte lounged on a large, flat rock, napping in the warm sunlight. Compared to her tightly strung countenance earlier in the day, she was the picture of peace. In contrast, Lena seemed to be losing her mind.

“Are they back yet?” Lena groaned.

Genji fruitlessly rubbed the armor over his temples, wishing he was hanging out with Angela or Jesse so he would be comfortable removing his faceplate at least. “Not since you asked me thirty seconds ago,” he eventually responded.

“It hadn’t been thirty seconds! It was sixty-one, I counted!”

“Be quiet, Lena,” Brigitte grumbled from her sunspot.

Silence reigned for exactly twenty-three seconds. “Oi, Brigitte, you know some history about Eichenwald, right? Or at least something about the battle? You wanna talk about it?”

Brigitte’s eyes snapped open into a glare. “Absolutely not.”

“I was only asking!” Lena said quickly, hands shooting into the air.

And so it went. Genji and Brigitte desperately trying to enjoy the peaceful afternoon and Lena doing her best to stay sane. There was a five minute period when HQ called for a status report, and it may have lasted longer if whoever was on the other end of the call didn’t try to prod Lena back onto the Lark.

“What’s that? Get _chrk_ back on _chrrrk_? I think _chrk_ losing you, I _chrk_.” Lena tapped twice on the comm in her ear, ending the conversation.

“Seriously?” Brigitte deadpanned.

“What?” Lena asked with the barest attempt at innocence.

“You finally had someone who wanted to talk to you and you hang up on them?”

“Well, yeah. I hate being cooped up in the Lark! Besides, Hanzo’s a terrible conversationalist.”

“She does have a point,” Genji said absentmindedly. Then he sat up. “Wait, you were speaking with my brother?”

Of course, it’s the moment they found a tolerable way of passing the time that the waiting ended.

“We have returned!” Reinhardt’s shout echoed in the castle behind Genji, but easily carried to the outside.

“Finally!” Brigitte said, climbing to her feet and dusting off her clothes.

“Lena, you said it was Hanzo who called from base?”

“What? Oh, yeah. He answered earlier, too.”

“He has been on comms all day?”

Master’s peaceful, chiming voice interrupted Lena’s reply. “We bear excellent news,” he announced. “The radiation levels throughout castle Eichenwald are low enough for safe travel. Only a few units had radiation significant enough to merit avoidance, but they are far from our path.”

“Perfect!” Lena said, already hovering by the entrance to the castle. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go, then!”

“Just a moment,” Master placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her from dashing into the ruins. “Reinhardt wished to have a moment with Brigitte. We can afford them the time and space.” 

Lena sighed, but accepted that the exploration would be postponed for a few minutes, choosing to comm back to HQ with an update.

Genji took his eyes off his master to confirm that Reinhardt and Brigitte had stepped away from the group. It was a little disconcerting to see Reinhardt’s mouth move but not hear his booming voice. Self-consciously, Genji tapped on his auditory sensor just to make sure there wasn’t a malfunction. It buzzed appropriately, which left Genji to stare at the stunningly quiet duo in bemusement.

“It seems that Reinhardt is informing Brigitte about the armor we found in the throne room,” Master observed, seeing the woman in question smile broadly as she spoke to her godfather. “It was in startlingly good condition, especially considering how many dead omnics were piled around it. Balderich von Alder died bravely.” 

Zenyatta tilted his head slightly, floating orbs whirring as he continued to observe the pair. “What is this? Has Brigitte has found peace in the short time I have been gone? Such an enjoyable surprise!” He chuckled, the synthesizer for his voice giving it a pleasant, vibrating undertone. “If only my absence solved so many problems.”

“It was nothing like that, Master! You were here, in a way.” Internally, Genji was preening at the prospect of receiving praise.

“Oh?” He could hear the new curiosity in his master’s voice. “How do you mean?”

“I encouraged them to talk through their problems,” Genji said. “Just as you would have.” It failed miserably, of course, but Master Zenyatta did not need to know that.

“As I would have? How curious. I was contemplating having them simply ‘fight it out’, as you would say.”

“I— what?”

Master laughed at his reaction. “When as young, emotional, and vulnerable as our friend is, simply airing out grievances is often the shortest path to peace, even if one acquires a few bruises in the process. After all, when the problem is lack of communication, actions can take the place of words.”

Genji spluttered. “But, Master, you never allowed me to fight it out!”

“You were already fighting everyone, my student, whether or not they had caused you harm or meant you ill. If I allowed you to ‘fight it out’, you would never finish. Even if you challenged every soul in the world, it would not win you peace as long as your true grievance was with yourself.”

There was nothing to say to that, as it was the truth. He would count it as one of his most cherished blessings to have met Master— the other being Angela, of course. He dipped his head respectfully. “You always know how to humble me when I need it most, master.”

Master laughed again. “With pride as large as yours, any time I humble you is a time you need it most.”

“A bitter truth to swallow,” Genji replied with a little annoyance. No need to kick a ninja while he’s down.

“Do not fret, Genji. Even occasionally shadowed by pride, you are still the brightest pupil I’ve had the pleasure of teaching.”

Genji glowed with the unexpected compliment until he realized the joke. “…I am the only pupil you’ve ever taught.”

“Are we ready to delve once more into the breach?” Reinhardt said, entirely too loud for one not even three meters away.

Lena materialized before the group. “I’m ready when you are!”

“Then onward! Into the belly of the beast, where we shall encounter and conquer many a monster! Only the bravest of hearts can beat strongly in the face of such terror!”

Brigitte snorted, whereas Lena was nothing but sparkling eyes. “Onward ho! For honor!”

“For glory!” Brigitte shouted.

Reinhardt swept them into one arm each before finishing the cheer. “For Overwatch!”


	18. Risk

It was by far the messiest Jesse had ever seen Doc’s immaculate med bay. 

He took extra care not to bump into any of the innumerable machines spread throughout the dimly lit space. They were all shapes and sizes; some whirring, some whining, some making frankly concerning clanking sounds; and damned if he could name the purpose of a single one. Squeezing past a particularly large… thing… Jesse finally made it to the door of Doc’s office and knocked.

There was no response, so he tried again. He heard a muffled thump and a zombie-like groan before a shuffling scrape grew louder and louder—and she opened the door.

A thoroughly exhausted Angela stood in the doorway to her office, hair largely escaped from her ponytail, with bags under her eyes so dark Jesse might have mistaken it for makeup. Her blue eyes were half-lidded and vacant, looking past Jesse unseeingly. Behind her, he could glimpse the ratty cot she had risen from.

⟪Yo, is she okay?⟫ Lúcio asked, peering around Jesse’s large frame.

Jesse took her shoulder and shook it gently. She didn’t fall over so… ⟪I’m sure she’s fine.⟫ “Real sorry to wake you, Doc. I promise we’ll get you back to bed as soon as possible. It’s just—well, we’ve got a new recruit!” He stepped aside, debuting their newest member. Lúcio beamed and waved a hello. 

Doc just stood there, staring. 

Sighing, he turned to Lúcio. ⟪She’s not going to be any good to us until we get some coffee in her system.⟫ He’d have to run to the kitchen and start up a pot, hope the coffee maker doesn’t shit the bed again, and carry the mug back before she had a chance to fall back asleep. Lúcio started humming and Jesse side-eyed him thoughtfully. _Or… _⟪Why don’t you play her a song? The champion one will get her blood pumpin’.⟫

A concerned look settled on Lúcio’s face. ⟪I don’t know… she’s not really in a state to consent.⟫

⟪She wouldn’t be consenting to the coffee either_._⟫ Lúcio seemed to think it over, so Jesse egged him on. ⟪Knowin’ her, she’ll be asking you to demonstrate your tech ten ways to Sunday. It’s healthier, too. As much as she rags on us for bad habits, she drinks enough caffeine to kill a small elephant.⟫

Looking a little more sure of himself, Lúcio nodded. ⟪Alright, but we just do it this once and get her permission in the future.⟫

⟪Wouldn’t dream of doing it any other way.⟫ 

With that, Lúcio pulled out his sound contraption again, cycling through a few songs before settling on the energetic one he played for them earlier. Jesse didn’t cover his ears, still curious about Lúcio’s tech and maybe also looking forward to getting another pick-me-up.

The first few bars barely played before Doc’s eyes flew open. Jesse didn’t even get to settle into the feeling of victory before Lúcio turned the music off, but at least Doc was awake. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Doc.”

She blinked. “Jesse? What are you doing here? Where’s Winston?” At the sight of a stranger in her med bay, she did a double-take. “Who is this?!”

“Before you panic about your experiments, Winston’s just outside. He didn’t want to intrude on the initial physical you’ll be doing for our newest member.”

“I see!” Extending her hand to Lúcio, Doc wasted no more time to make introductions. “My name is Doctor Angela Ziegler, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Lúcio de Correia dos Santos, pleased to meet you!”

“Oh,” she said, flipping on the lights without warning. “You have the same name as that Brazilian artist!”

Blinking the spots out of his eyes, Jesse snorted. “Doc. That _is _the Brazilian artist.”

She nearly dropped her tablet. “Oh! _Oh_! I love your music! Especially _Só Na Maciota_, I listen to it all the time in the office.”

“Thank you!” 

Jesse glanced at Lúcio, impressed he understood what Doc said, but he supposed fans all generally said things in the same tone.

“Why don’t you come sit over here so we can begin your evaluation?” She patted the large metal examination table. “Jesse, if you’d be so kind as to join Winston outside.”

“Doc, do you speak Portuguese or Spanish?”

“Hm? No, why do you ask?”

“Because that’s what Lúcio speaks. Unless you’ve got a Babylon Brick hidin’ among all these machines, I think you’re gonna need a translator.”

“That’s hardly orthodox, Jesse.”

“Well, is usin’ an unsecured translator software much better?” Knowing that Lúcio hadn’t been addressed recently: ⟪I’m explaining the translation situation for Doc. Why don’t you hop on that table of hers so we can get started as soon as she’s ready?⟫

⟪Sure, sounds good to me.⟫

Doc sighed. “I suppose we can’t do any better. We’ll have to ask Winston to order a Babrick as soon as it is feasible. We’ll keep this to basic intake questions instead of a full physical. I don’t want to break protocol more than what’s _strictly _necessary.” 

Facing Lúcio, she leaned back on the counter with her hands folded in front of her. “So, Lúcio, I’m pleased to have you join us. This will only be a cursory overview of your health. Since Jesse is not medical staff, please do not feel obligated to answer any question outside your comfort zone. Hopefully we’ll get a Babrick soon so we’ll be able to talk to one another directly.” She paused to allow for Jesse to translate everything.

They went over basic information such as his birthday, height, weight, and whether he was on any medications. Doc even went as far as taking his blood pressure and checking his heartbeat, but insisted that anything beyond that was not necessary. Lúcio volunteered his blood type without waiting for Doc to ask, concerned that he might need a transfusion after fighting bad guys. Jesse thought it was optimistic that they’d be seeing _any _kind of action, given the past few months’ total lack of it. Things really got interesting when Doc asked about any history of illness.

⟪Not that I can think of. My family is generally pretty healthy. My grandfather had cancer but it wasn’t a hereditary variety. I don’t even get sick that often, not since I got polio when I was a kid.⟫

“His grandfather had a non-hereditary cancer—” Jesse cut himself off, looking at Lúcio incredulously. ⟪Hold up, you had polio?⟫

⟪When I was a kid, yeah.⟫

⟪I thought that was an extinct disease?⟫

⟪I got the mutated kind. It’s not as bad as old polio, but it can still kill you if it’s not caught soon enough and the vaccine wasn’t widely distributed until a few years ago. That’s why I have to wear these braces.⟫ Lúcio patted the metal brace-skates.

⟪Braces?⟫

⟪Yup! I’ve been mostly paralyzed from the waist down since I was four.⟫

“Holy shit.” Here he’d always thought the skates were a dramatic fashion statement.

“Jesse?” Doc asked, clearly concerned that neither Jesse or Lúcio had addressed her during their conversation.

“Uh, Lúcio got polio when he was a kid and apparently his legs are paralyzed. Those skates are his braces.”

Sweeping a critical eye over Lúcio, Angela hummed thoughtfully. “Using skates instead of arm braces to capitalize on the hip movement he can still produce allows him to move about under his own power with little downsides. Light blades don’t damage flooring, so it wouldn’t be subject to the bans traditional skates face. Absolutely brilliant! And much less invasive than prosthetic surgery.” She gave a wide yawn, futilely trying to hide it behind her hand. “Although I wonder if this will have an impact on his ability to be an Overwatch agent?”

Jesse thought it over. “I suppose we’d have to keep an eye on him during workouts, but if he could make it up the Rock without help, I don’t see it bein’ a mark against him. ‘Sides, he wants to be a medic.”

“Ah! What medical training to you have, Lúcio?” 

Jesse relayed the question.

⟪Not much compared to a doctor,⟫ Lúcio said, rubbing his neck and smiling self-consciously. ⟪I’ve volunteered with a few crisis centers. One was a call center, back before I was famous, then I switched to a texting center once my voice became too recognizable. I’ve also volunteered with disaster response teams. I mostly did triage for shock. The most physical treatments I’ve performed are tourniquets and CPR.⟫

Jesse was careful to translate all this as close to word-for-word as he could, knowing that Doc would need accurate information.

“Well, that certainly fills a gap in my medical expertise. You may not have professional degrees or certifications, but you certainly have the education and experience-- I’m almost entirely focused on physical medicine. My psychological education extends mostly to bedside manner. I can’t know how often the team would need treatment for shock, but at the very least you’d be wonderful source of inspiration for us all. I wouldn’t say no to having an assistant, either, if you were interested.” She smiled at Lúcio’s enthusiastic acceptance. “I’m not sure how well you’d fit on a mission, though, given your global fame. Frankly, I’m not sure how you’ve managed to make it all the way to Gibraltar without tipping off your managers or even your fans.”

⟪I don’t have managers to tip off,⟫ Lúcio announced proudly. ⟪I’m entirely self-produced online. I don’t mess around with corporations if I don’t have to. The closest thing I have to a boss is my tour manager and she only worries about what I do during the tour. Since I don’t have another planned for at least a year, she won’t come looking for me.⟫

“What about your family? Do they know that you’re here?”

⟪No, I told them I wanted to take a vacation from the public eye. I’m sure that they know that I’m not taking a simple vacation, but they’re kind enough to not ask for details.⟫

⟪Can’t imagine the media is as kind,⟫ Jesse said, darkly remembering how they hounded his commanders at every hour of the day.

⟪Well, no, but they aren’t exactly favored where I live. They were on Vishkar’s side until we started winning, so the neighborhood takes a, uh, vindictive pleasure in misleading them.⟫

⟪Oh really? Have any stories to tell?⟫

Lúcio grinned widely.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

This was Genji’s fault. Hanzo stared at the monitor in Winston’s office, listening to Oxton sputter into the comms and say she was losing him. He watched the line go dead on a full signal. This. Was Genji’s Fault.

Genji was team leader. It was his responsibility to ensure the mission went to plan. Oxton was not on the Lark, her assigned place of duty. Ergo, things were not going to plan. And what’s more, he thought as he reviewed the call log that verified his brother made zero attempts to contact him today, Genji did not _care _that it was not going to plan. 

Yes. It was absolutely fair to say that this was _all _Genji’s fault.

If Genji had not literally kidnapped him, he wouldn’t be a part of this abhorrently unorganized, unprofessional, inexperienced rag-tag group of vigilantes! The constant ineptitude he bore witness to stirred emotions and habits he would rather leave forgotten. He _did not_ want to be a leader for any type of organization. The Shimada-gumi served as a prominent example of why he should never seek a position of power again. Being a leader required a steady head, a firm hand, and a cool heart and Hanzo _excelled_. The Shimada-gumi thrived under his leadership in a way it never did under his father’s control and it collapsed under its own weight mere weeks after he left. Power was something he had craved and until recently, those urges had lain dormant. 

But every time someone arrived late to a meeting, every time Mister Lindholm and Doctor Ziegler bickered, every time Winston utterly failed to lead in a meaningful capacity, the desire, the _need _to seize control grew stronger. In moments where his self-discipline wavered, Hanzo would discover his thoughts pondering how to improve the group, how to increase their efficacy, making contingency plan upon contingency plan, plotting the best way to achieve a bloodless coup.

Long years in isolation had prepared him well, however. Practiced coping strategies steered him away from accumulating power and influence to smaller measures of control over his environment. Cleaning the common areas, especially the kitchen where there was never a shortage of dishes, soothed him just as often and reliably as practicing his marksmanship. Maintaining Overwatch’s books and the rote mathematics that went alongside it could ease the urge just as well. When even those failed, he always had one last line of defense: seeing to the needs of others.

This was a new technique, one he had only learned of once he arrived at the Watchpoint, and it was completely unexpected. One would theorize that an individual prone to power trips would be better served if they did not exercise what influence they possessed over others, but Hanzo found the opposite to be true. Taking time out of his day to listen to Reinhardt’s stories, make coffee for Doctor Ziegler, or cook dinner for McCree didn’t feel like he was doing others favors. It strangely felt the opposite, as though they were doing _him _a kindness by allowing him into their lives.

Well. Perhaps McCree did not consider it a kindness. The amount of effort it took Hanzo to get McCree to simply eat was astounding. It hardly required a close examination for anyone to realize that McCree was underweight and underfed. 

Truthfully, his efforts to adhere to their truce had exceeded Hanzo’s expectations. It pleased him that Genji was no longer forced to find balance between two opposing forces. To say that McCree had exceeded Hanzo’s _hopes_, however, would be a falsehood. The man was chronically antagonistic, and though Hanzo could take solace that it was not exclusive to himself, it was little comfort. The only reason he could offer as to why none of the other agents had stepped up to force McCree to take better care of his health is that they were either too busy themselves, such as Dr Zeigler, too irresponsible, such as Reinhardt, or not aware of human needs, such as Zenyatta.

If Hanzo thought about it though, he supposed he could divide the Overwatch team into two groups: the ones who needed a watchful eye and the watchful eyes themselves. Miss Lindholm watched over Reinhardt, Genji watched over Zenyatta, Oxton watched over Winston, he watched over McCree, Doctor Ziegler watched over everyone…. 

Fine, it wasn’t a perfect analogy. Oxton especially required as much supervision as she provided, if not more. Perhaps it’d be better to categorize them by responsibility—but then you have Winston, who was responsible for many things but still managed to neglect his person, and himself, ostensibly responsible for no one and still taking it upon himself to manage the lives of others. Namely McCree, who was incidentally taking responsibility for Lúcio in the med bay--

“Olympus, this is Tracer, can you hear me?”

Hanzo closed his eyes and counted to three. “As clearly as always.”

“Er, right,” Lena chuckled nervously. “Well, mission complete! We’ll take off within the next ten minutes, ETA to base is 1835.”

“Good copy, Tracer. Is there anything else? Any anticipated comm outages, perhaps?”

“Oh, uh, nope! All good here, we, uh, fixed the comm link. So, uh, yeah, Tracer out!”

Hanzo sighed. Overwatch was, is, and potentially always would be a mess. The only reason the old Overwatch had lasted as long as it had was because no one wanted to be remembered as the person who finally pulled the plug. As tragic as it had been, the Fall was also a huge relief to the UN, who could finally disband their pet project. 

Really, he could not fathom why this group thought Overwatch as the best banner to align themselves under. Nearly half of the team had never even been a member in the first place, and their operations and mission set didn’t even remotely resemble the original Overwatch. Hanzo was convinced that if the group was ever discovered and tried under the Petras Act, the judge would rule them as an overzealous fan club and throw the case out. …Perhaps he should write that down to propose as a defense for when they’re inevitably discovered—_no_. 

He must stop doing that. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his responsibility.

He watched from the wide windows of Winston’s office as McCree and Lúcio exited the medbay together. They would need to call a meeting as soon as Genji’s team returned from mission. He wouldn’t allow Winston to delay the usual mission recap this time— there was too much risk in allowing an uninitiated member free reign. If he couldn’t prevent Lúcio from joining, then he would at least mitigate any damage such an imprudent decision could cause.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Three hours later, Hanzo was seething in Doctor Ziegler’s office, staring balefully at his brother as they waited for McCree and the doctor herself to arrive.

⟪Brother, the team needed to eat. A few extra hours until the meeting will not harm anything.⟫

⟪Genji, I truly do not have the patience to discuss this with you.⟫

⟪What did I do?!⟫ His brother asked, sitting up straight.

⟪You did not check in once! Oxton did not remain on the Lark!⟫

⟪Oh, is that all?⟫ Seemingly not concerned, Genji slouched in his chair again.

⟪’Is that all’, he says,⟫ Hanzo mocked. ⟪You were team leader, it was your responsibility to ensure that everything went according to plan and that _includes _giving command updates.⟫

Genji shrugged. ⟪Nothing happened, Brother, you’re acting as though I caused the mission to fail.⟫

⟪Perhaps not this time, but what happens when things do not go as planned? What if Talon had shown up?⟫

⟪We would have fought.⟫

Hanzo’s frown intensified at Genji’s carelessness. ⟪With three of your five members unarmed?⟫

Genji tucked his chin stubbornly. ⟪…I would have fought.⟫

⟪Stop being obstinate. Plans are not for when everything goes right. Plans are for when things go _wrong_. If Overwatch does not learn this lesson soon, I fear for when the worst finally happens.⟫

⟪You are too pessimistic, Brother.⟫

⟪Tell me that I do not have reason to be.⟫

⟪…Fair enough.⟫

They lapsed into silence. Genji seemed unaffected by their conversation, although Hanzo never harbored the illusion that his words would change that. There was little solace in knowing he was correct. As he had learned from experience, there was no joy in gloating to a grave when his words inevitably prove true.

“We’re back!” Doctor Ziegler announced as she entered her office, two dinner plates in hand. McCree followed behind her, similarly burdened with gifts of food. Handing both plates to Genji in passing, she unlocked one of her many cabinets and withdrew a bottle of wine.

“I did not know that you drink,” Hanzo said as he reached for his plate from McCree’s hand— only to grab at air. He turned to face the other man, confused, and reached for the plate again, only for McCree to jerk it out of his reach at the last minute.

“Only on special occasions,” Doctor Zeigler said, uncorking the bottle. Hanzo made another grab for the plate, frowning furiously when McCree once again raised it above his head.

Choosing to ignore the blight upon humanity, Hanzo folded his arms and resolutely looked at Doctor Ziegler instead. “What is the occasion?”

“A successful iteration of research completed!” She rose a glass to her face and swirled the liquid inside, breathing deeply. “Ah, I’ve been looking forward to this all week. Would everyone like a glass?”

“Ah, not for me, thank you, but please accept my congratulations.” He glared at McCree who had taken to prodding his shoulder with the edge of the plate. 

Moving quickly, he seized the plate and jerked it towards him, causing the food to slide precariously when McCree did not offer any of the resistance that he anticipated. McCree laughed lowly before tipping his hat back, and _winking_. Hanzo jerked back, already feeling an angry flush crawl up his neck. Was McCree teasing him again?

“Yeah, Doc, congrats! What manner of magic were you up to anyway?”

“Ha! _Magic_. Very funny, Jesse.” She took a sip of her wine and hummed. “I’ve been experimenting with directional, single-target nanotech beams. As nanotechnology is currently limited to localized radiation exposure, most uses are restricted to after fire fights, when a patient can afford to stay still. If my research is fruitful, I’ll be able to heal people with nanotech without the need remaining stationary!”

McCree whistled. “Well, that _does _sound handy.”

“I hope so! It’s still in the early stages, of course. I need to find a way to transmit the treatment. I have some preliminary sketches of what I’d like it to be, but I’m afraid the technical expertise required outstrips my own abilities.”

“Maybe y’could ask Lúcio for help?”

Doctor Zeigler paused mid-bite, turning the idea over in her head before swallowing. “Well, that’s a thought.”

“A disturbing one,” Hanzo muttered.

McCree snorted. “There he goes bitchin’ again.”

“I am not—” he aborted the statement, aware of how childish it would sound, and instead changed topic. “Let us bring this meeting to order. We need to discuss the newest threats.”

“Lúcio’s not a threat—” Angela objected.

“Threats, plural?” Genji asked.

“I haven’t even finished eatin’…” McCree bitched.

“Yes,” Hanzo siad, pointedly ignoring McCree. “Threats, plural. First, our newest member-candidate is not personally known by any of our current roster. That in itself should be enough reason to cause concern even if we do not take his history into account.”

“Have you seen the kid?” McCree countered. “He’s basically sunshine incarnate. I can’t imagine him knowingly doin’ anythin’ even vaguely suspect.”

“Such as joining an illegal vigilante organization?”

McCree chewed on a stick of asparagus.“…hm, okay you got me there.”

Genji tapped the end of his fork on his chin. “One thing that I do not understand, if no one personally knows him, how did he come to the Watchpoint?”

“Sombra,” Hanzo and McCree said simultaneously. Hanzo glared at McCree only to find the expression mirrored.

While Genji snickered at them, Doctor Zeigler scrunched her face in thought. “That sounds familiar…”

“That’s because it is,” McCree explained. “It’s the mystery profile in the Blackwatch servers.”

“Ah,” she said, face clearing of concern. “then what’s the worry? Lúcio’s personally known by an ex-Blackwatch member.”

McCree snorted and while it felt undignified to admit as much, Hanzo agreed with the sentiment. “Sorry, Doc, it almost sounds like you mean that genuinely. Did you forget how half of Blackwatch were crafty, untrustworthy bastards?”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating Jesse. You and Genji both came from there and neither of you are… untrustworthy.”

“Debatable,” Genji said in an oddly cheerful tone.

“Who in Blackwatch would betray us?” She challenged.

“Doubleday,” McCree started.

“Cuerva,” Genji seconded.

“Well, they were hardly—”

“Kusnetsov.”

“Yi.”

“Heartless Hughes.”

“War Crimes Wekesa.”

The two looked at each other, sharing mischievous grins before saying the last name in unison: “Dr O’Douchebag.” 

Hanzo pitied whatever poor soul had been their commanding officer.

“Stop!” Doctor Zeigler protested, clearly irritated. “Doctor _O’Deorain _happens to be a good colleague of mine.”

Both Genji and McCree made faces at that. McCree pointed his fork at her. “Yeah, well, you’ve got terrible taste in friends.”

“I suppose that would explain _you_, wouldn’t it?” Dr Zeigler said, raising her in Hanzo’s estimation by several marks.

McCree put a hand over his chest with a grimace. “That cuts deep, Doc.”

Growing tired of the tangent, Hanzo interrupted. “The point being, we do not know who Sombra is or if they are acting in our best interests. It may even be that Sombra is a Talon plant.”

“How would Talon know where our base is?” Doctor Zeigler asked.

Genji waved a hand in the air, unconcerned as ever. “Maybe they’ve always known.”

“Considering how Talon attacked Gibraltar even before the Recall,” Hanzo said, “I would say that is obvious.”

Genji rolled his eyes. “If they’ve always known, why wouldn’t they just bust down our doors and kill us all?”

“Ugh,” McCree pushed away his plate, only half-eaten. “See, this is why I don’t like to talk business and eat. It ruins my appetite.”

“Do not waste food McCree,” Hanzo reprimanded him. 

McCree glowered, but took another bite anyway. “For the record,” he said, obnoxiously chewing his food, “I’m only doin’ this for the starvin’ kids in LA.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and returned to the matter at hand. “Let us assume that Sombra is not a Talon operative. How would they have learned of the Recall?”

“Any of us could have mentioned it to old friends who may have been interested in answering the Recall,” Angela said.

“Maybe any of the old Overwatch,” McCree admitted, “but old Blackwatch? I don’t think so.”

“I thought that you and Genji both received the call?” Hanzo questioned.

“We did, but it was because we both served in Overwatch long enough to be considered old Overwatch members. After Reyes, I don’t think any of the Old Guard would knowin’ly invite Blackwatch members.”

“So,” Doctor Zeigler drew out. “We can reasonably conclude that Sombra is not former Overwatch. Therefore, Sombra is most likely former Blackwatch. Piece of cake.”

“There is cake?” Hanzo asked hopefully despite himself. “Idiom,” McCree explained.

Disappointing.

“The only question now,” Dr. Zeigler continued, “Is whether they’re with us or against us.”

McCree shoved another piece of asparagus in his mouth before asking his next question. Hanzo tried not to sneer in disgust. He was unsuccessful. 

“What would they gain by sendin’ Lúcio if they were against us?”

“A spy—yes, alright,” Hanzo said to the round of groans. “I will concede that if Lúcio is leaking information, he is doing it unwittingly.”

“That’s an easy fix.” McCree shrugged. “We just tell him that if Sombra wants to help by sendin’ us recruits, that’s Sombra’s business. Until they join up themselves, no info on who joins up or what we do. We get Sombra’s gift without riskin’ anything.”

“I still don’t like how easily we’re accepting him,” Hanzo groused. “Anyone can fake pleasantry.”

“You are _absolutely _invited to start fakin’ any time now, sweetheart.”

Hanzo ignored him. “I am simply saying that you are allowing yourselves to be… be star blinded.”

McCree snorted. “The phrase is starstruck.”

“I think that you are right in that Lúcio’s fame is affecting our judgement,” Doctor Zeigler said, “but I disagree that it is irrational. Lúcio lives a very public life, it is easy to track down his beliefs and past history. It makes me confident in our decision to keep him on board.”

Hanzo frowned. “Is his public nature not cause for concern that he will expose Overwatch?”

Genji shook his head. “He is actually well known for evading media— and for the hatred between them. Almost everything online about him is self-published. Will he maintain his social media presence while he’s with us? Of course. It would probably cause more issues if he disappeared.”

“I think what we’ve casually glossed over so far is that we can’t really afford to _not _accept Lúcio.” Doctor Zeigler paused to take another sip of wine. “We’re in dire need of more fighters. The risk that he’s an unwitting Talon informant is much less than the benefit we’d get by having him on board.”

“…Not that Winston or anyone else knows this.” Hanzo muttered darkly.

Doctor Zeigler frowned. “We’ve been feeding him information as quickly and efficiently as we can.”

“I am becoming worried that it will not be enough.”

“Well,” McCree said, stretching out his legs and placing his empty plate on the doctor’s desk. “It’s not a bridge we can cross, yet.”

Hanzo blinked, unsure how to interpret the phrase. “What?”

“Uh, it’s not something we can deal with, yet. Our hands are tied.”

“Why must you explain one idiom with another?”

“Can Babricks translate for me? I’m tired of teachin’ you English.”

McCree teach _him_? Preposterous. “Perhaps it is I who should be teaching _you _English,” he said. “Your pronunciation is awful.”

“Oh, _fuck _you, you arrogant piece of—”

Genji cleared his throat. Hanzo glanced at him before resuming his stare-down with McCree, wary of his long reach.

“My… apologies,” Hanzo eventually grit out.

At first, McCree remained silent and Hanzo felt an unmistakably electric sensation zip through his left arm-- but then Genji kicked McCree in the shin. 

“Likewise,” he finally growled.

“So, to summarize,” Doctor Ziegler began awkwardly, “we will accept Lúcio with the reminder that he should not disclose operations to anyone not actively on the roster. We don’t know who Sombra is, but we’re not ready to tell Winston about them. We need a Babylon Brick—” Hanzo looked at her incredulously. “--for Lúcio!” 

Ah. Right. His neck flushed. That was… embarrassing.

“That sounds right,” Genji agreed.

“Well, we’ve got thirty minutes until Winston calls his meeting to order and I still need to make coffee.” Doctor Zeigler looked around at them with a bright smile. “Let’s clean up and head over, shall we?”

“I will take the dishes,” Hanzo volunteered, snatching the pile from her desk and diving out the door before anyone could stop him. He would need the time to cool his temper.


	19. Reason

⟪You have got to be pulling my hair_._⟫ Lúcio said in disbelief.

Jesse shook his head as he led them through the halls towards the conference room. ⟪I’m not! I can’t believe you don’t know a lick about professional bull riding. Brazil has dominated the international scene for about as long as there’s _been _an international scene.⟫

⟪And _I _never would have guessed bull riding still existed, let alone that there was an ‘international scene’ for it.⟫

⟪Not everyone can be as cultured as yours truly, I s’pose.⟫ Jesse winked, holding the door open.

Lúcio gave an amused snort before looking around the empty room. ⟪So where is everyone? I thought there was a meeting.⟫

Jesse dropped into his customary chair and propped his boots on the table. ⟪Technically, the meetin’s not for another fifteen minutes, but I figured I could get you in here before the others show up. They can be pretty overwhelmin’ to new folk in general, but since you’re… well, _you_, they might be even worse than usual.⟫

⟪I’m sure I could handle it!⟫

Jesse nodded. ⟪No doubt! I’m more worried about Winston bein’ able to control a meetin’ full of excited agents. ‘Specially Lena.⟫

“Did I hear my name?” Jesse turned in time to see Lena herself stepping into the conference room. She didn’t give him a chance to respond, talking at her usual rapid-fire pace. “Hiya, Jesse. Who’ve you got with you? Winston mentioned a new recruit, so I figured I’d get here early to get myself acquainted.” 

He’d give her three seconds to notice Lúcio. 3, 2,— 

“No. _Way_. Lúcio?” 

Damn, off by one. 

“_The _Lúcio?” She blinked to him, the residual blue light highlighting Lúcio’s surprised expression. “Cor, I can’t believe you’ve joined Overwatch, this is amazing!” 

Jesse tried to hide his laughter when she took one of his hands with both of hers, shaking it vigorously. 

“I’m Lena Oxton! You might’ve heard of me— well, not like I’ve heard of you, of course, I just used to be a part of the old Overwatch and I got a little famous for the whole Slipstream-slash-Girl Out of Time incident. Wow, that doesn’t sound self-important at all--” 

Lúcio looked over at him with wide eyes as she continued to babble.

He got the hint. “Give ‘im a chance to breathe, Lena.”

“Oh!” Lena blinked a step back. “Right, er, sorry about that!”

⟪I take it that this is Lena?⟫ Lúcio asked as Lena’s exuberance transformed to confusion.

⟪Yessir. I’ll just do the usual thing, yeah?⟫

⟪Sounds good.⟫

Jesse leaned forward in his chair and grinned at Lena, who still looked as lost as a squirrel in a fish tank. “Well, seems like he doesn’t really need an introduction, but you can now consider yourself officially acquainted with Lúcio Correira dos Santos.”

“_Wow_,” she whispered breathily.

“Pleased to meet you!” Lúcio said, smiling widely again.

Seeing the honest-to-god stars in her eyes, Jesse quickly spoke: “He only speaks Portuguese and Spanish. Winston is already tracking that we need to order a Babrick, but until we get our hands on one, I’ll be actin’ as translator.” 

He hadn’t realized he’d been puffing his chest proudly until Lena laughed at him.

“Pft, why would you do that?”

“’Cause I speak Spanish?” He asked in confusion and maybe a little bit of hurt.

“No, I mean, why wait until we get another Babrick?” She blew a lock of hair out of her face. “We can just use mine.”

“…You have a Babrick?”

“What, you think I learn the language for every airfield I fly into? I keep it in the Lark,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

Jesse slapped a hand over his face. Why didn’t he think of asking the Eichenwald team if they had Babricks? Especially their pilot! It was practically mandated for professional pilots to carry Babricks. _Lord_. Sometimes, he was such an idiot. He looked back up at her. 

“Lena, darlin’, would you mind grabbin’ that for us before the meetin’ starts?”

“Sure! I’ll be back in a jiffy, loves!” She blinked away.

“Well_,_” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ⟪Looks like you won’t be needin’ me to keep translatin’ after all. Lena’s got a Babrick you can use.⟫ 

His usefulness was short lived as ever, it seemed.

Lúcio grinned, his eyes looking through the door Lena just exited. ⟪What is that thing she does? That makes the blue light? I’d say it looks like Vishkar tech, but she doesn’t seem the type.⟫

⟪Definitely not Vishkar, don’t worry about that.⟫Jesse tipped his hat back. The disappointment hadn’t faded yet, and his hands felt itchy. He dug through his pockets and pulled out a silver lighter.⟪Lena had an accident… hm, maybe twelve years ago? There abouts, anyway. She was a test pilot for an experimental plane that was supposed to be able to teleport.⟫ The lighter danced through his right hand, catching the light as it twirled through his fingers.

⟪Things didn’t go to plan, as they do, and she ended up disappearin’ for a bit. I don’t understand all the details, but somethin’ about gettin’ misplaced in time.⟫ He tossed the lighter high into the air and caught it with his left hand. ⟪They had to bring together a whole host of scientists to work it out— it was Winston’s first official project, actually. So they eventually managed to make her reappear, but it came with some unique side effects.⟫ The lighter didn’t flow through his fingers as well as it had on his right hand. It _clinked_ on his metal knuckles, catching on the joints. 

⟪Downside is if she don’t wear that device on her chest, she becomes temporally unstable and disappears again. On the upside, she can manipulate time-space for short bursts, so she can sorta… accelerate her position. Hell, she can even reverse it.⟫ There was a clatter as the lighter finally slipped out of his hand and skittered on the table. He frowned at it before looking back up at Lúcio. ⟪You should ask her to show off for you sometime. She’ll love the attention.⟫

⟪Wow. Time travel,⟫ Lúcio said, somewhat awed. ⟪That’s one heck of a story! She turned what could have been a huge disadvantage into a unique ability.⟫

Jesse paused. Then he nodded, sweeping his lighter off the table and shoving it back into his pocket. ⟪That’s a good way of lookin’ at it.⟫ 

Lúcio patted his metal-encased legs. ⟪Just like me_._⟫ He looked towards Jesse and nodded at his arm with his ever-present grin. ⟪Just like you.⟫

Jesse smiled back while subtly angling his prosthetic arm out of view. ⟪There’s a lot to say about bein’ able to turn a bad situation around,⟫ he said noncommittally, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that always rose to the surface when people talked about his arm.

⟪What happened?⟫ Lúcio asked curiously. ⟪Was it an accident?⟫

⟪Yup,⟫ Jesse lied with a grin. ⟪Bull ridin’_._⟫

Fortunately, they were interrupted before Lúcio could ask him more questions about it. _Un_fortunately, it was Hanzo who interrupted them, stopping short at the door when he saw them, and Jesse was pleased to recognize that he was considering turning tail. At least he was able to interpret _one_ of that man’s expressions.

“Don’t look so scared, sugar,” Jesse said with a smirk. “I don’t bite… without consent.”

Hanzo sneered, but didn’t leave. Instead, he took a seat in the chair furthest away from Jesse.

⟪You two don’t really get along, do you?⟫

Jesse turned at Lúcio’s words, shocked to find an honest-to-god _frown_ on his face. It was such an unexpected expression from Lúcio that Jesse was almost at a loss for words. ⟪It’s not really… it’s just how we are,⟫ he explained in a stumble. ⟪We don’t mean anythin’ by what we say.⟫

Lúcio shrugged and glanced at Hanzo, who was surreptitiously watching them over his tablet. ⟪Maybe not you, but _he _looks like he takes it pretty personally.⟫

Jesse winced. ⟪Sometimes,⟫ he admitted. ⟪He’s learnin’ to take things less seriously.⟫

Lúcio raised his hands apologetically and smiled again. ⟪I know it’s not really any of my business, but nothing good comes of making a cat and a shoe out of people.⟫

...Making a what? He blinked. ⟪Alright, now _that’s _a phrase I haven’t heard before.⟫

⟪Really?⟫ Lúcio laughed. ⟪I’ve never thought about it, but I guess I’ve only heard it in Brazil. It means that playing with someone’s emotions doesn’t have good results for anyone.⟫ Lúcio looked at him meaningfully. ⟪Even if you mean it in good humor.⟫

⟪I’ll… keep that in mind.⟫ Jesse said, rubbing the back of his neck again, not quite meeting Lúcio’s eyes. 

Why did he feel like he was letting Lúcio down? Why did letting him down make him feel so _low_? Jesse hadn’t even known him for a full day!

“I’m back!” Lena announced, materializing beside them and setting a compact device on the table between them. She handed Lúcio an earpiece and fiddled with the settings on the screen. “That should do it. What do you say, Lúcio? Can you hear me alright?”

Lúcio prodded the volume button before giving her a thumbs up. His next words weren’t in Spanish, but the Babrick was able to translate where Jesse couldn’t: “Loud and clear, Lena! Thank you for your help, I really appreciate it!”

“Aw, no problem, love!” She said, raising a hand to give Lúcio her usual shoulder-punch, but remembered herself in time to run it through her hair instead. Jesse felt a fond half-smile curl on his lips at her awkwardness. “You’re a teammate now, we gotta look out for each other.”

Then Lúcio surprised both of them when he glided to his feet and wrapped Lena in a tight hug. “All the same, I really appreciate it!”

“Aha, that, um,” Lena stuttered, blushing. She looked at Jesse and mouthed, “_Lúcio is hugging me!!” _

He chuckled and gave her a thumbs up.

“I look forward to working with you as well,” Hanzo said from across the room. 

Unbidden, an image of Lúcio enthusiastically hugging the taciturn logistician sprang into Jesse’s mind and he had to cover his laugh with a cough. Hanzo gave him a stink-eye for it, but ignored him in favor of Lúcio. 

“We have not been properly introduced. I am Hanzo, I handle supply for the team.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lúcio said with his near-ecstatic smile. His joy was infectious. Jesse would bet an easy twenty that the whole team would love him. The guy was basically an emotional amp, sci-fi speakers not required.

“Oh, there’s already quite a few of you here,” Winston said, pausing in the doorway. “Good evening, all.”

The group returned their collective greetings, Jesse giving a half-hearted salute, but the synthetic voice of the Babrick was what caught Winston's attention. 

“When did we get this?” He looked at Jesse suspiciously. “I hope that its previous owner was properly compensated.”

“Boss!” Jesse protested, pressing a hand to his chest and trying not to feel _too_ put out that Winston had immediately assumed he stole the Babrick. “I am _shocked_ and _offended_ you think I would do such a thing!”

“It’s mine, anyway,” Lena said, waving at their leader.

“Oh, good!” Winston ambled to Lúcio, extending his massive hand for a shake. “I’m happy you’ll be able to directly participate in your first meeting.”

“Me, too!” Lúcio exclaimed, giving Winston a light punch on the shoulder. Winston lit up just like Lena had, beaming at everyone. 

Hell, might as well bet a hundred. Lúcio’d have the team eating out of his hand by the end of the meeting. He grinned to himself, one thought warming him from this inside: Hanzo was gonna _hate _it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to skip tonight’s meeting?” Genji said from the doorway. Jesse turned to see Genji, Doc, and Zen walking in together. Genji had his arm around Doc’s shoulder, who looked much worse for wear than she had thirty minutes ago. Clearly, the coffee wasn’t helping as much as she hoped it would.

“No, I--” Doc Zeigler hid her huge yawn behind a hand. “I’m fine. I am eager to see the results of the Eichenwald mission. Oh, and the post-op check-up should happen tonight. I really should have conducted them when the team landed, but everyone wanted to eat--” She yawned again and Jesse watched as Genji pulled out a chair for her before gently sitting her in it. “Thank you. As I was saying--”

“Doctor Zeigler,” Zen interrupted softly. “Might I propose that I conduct the check-up? By all accounts you’ve been working almost incessantly since our departure. Allow me to assist you in this small manner.”

Doc hesitated.

“C’mon, Doc,” Jesse joined in, knowing that she had a problem knowing when to call it quits. They _all _did, really, but that just made it more important that they keep an eye out for each other. “Spend the night in. You’re already joinin’ the meetin’, why don’t you keep Genji company tonight? Y’know how he gets when he’s lonely.” He didn’t need to see Genji’s face to know he was rolling his eyes, but it didn’t bother Jesse any. He knew how to play his cards.

Sure enough, Doc gave in. “Oh, alright.” She smiled at Genji and tapped on his visor where his nose would be. “I suppose we could celebrate a successful mission.” 

Jesse snickered even as Genji flipped him off outside of Doc and Zen’s view.

“Hurry up, Rein!” Brigitte urged as she entered the room. 

Jesse glanced at the clock-- those two were certainly cutting it close. There was only a single minute to spare before the meeting was supposed to begin. No doubt that Hanzo-- yup, glowering like they’d insulted his mother. That man seriously needed to get a grip on his control issues.

“Have no fear!” Rein bellowed as he entered, causing most everyone to flinch at the volume. “_I_ am here!”

“That’s how you get tinnitus,” Lúcio said, slowly uncovering his ears. 

Jesse wished he was kidding. All of Red Team had to get their hearing treated after doing a day-long indoor rescue exercise with Reinhardt. Doc refused to talk to any of them for three days in protest.

“_Ahem_,” Winston began. “Everyone please take your seats. Many of us had a long day, so let’s not drag this meeting out.” He paused long enough for the scraping of chairs to cease. “So, uh, good evening everyone! We have a few things on the agenda, but first and foremost, I’d like to introduce our newest recruit-- Lúcio Correia dos Santos!” 

Raucous cheers echoed in the small room, and Jesse himself let out a piercing whistle. Lúcio grinned widely, waving enthusiastically at his new compatriots. 

“Many of us know Lúcio through his reputation as a musician, but he’ll be joining us as medical support.” Winston again waited until the applause died down. “Would you like to say a few words to the team, Lúcio?”

“Sure!” He glided to his feet. “Hello, everyone! I’m Lúcio and I’d just like to say I am _so _thrilled to be here.” He bounced on the toes of his skates, long hair dancing with the movement. “I always dreamed of joining Overwatch ever since I was little-- I was a huge fan.” He laughed, a slight blush tinging his cheeks in a way that could only be described as _adorable_. “You might think I’m exaggerating, but I had, like, _all_ the posters.” Lúcio grinned at Reinhardt. “Yours was my favorite.”

Reinhardt guffawed, sitting up in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. Jesse could tell from the look on Brigitte’s face that Lúcio had already passed _her _test.

“I know that many of you have had the pleasure of knowing me before I could have the pleasure of knowing you. And I know,” Lúcio said, eyes landing on Hanzo. “That some of you might wonder what business a musician has on a team of heroes.” 

Jesse watched with passive interest as Hanzo refused to look away from Lúcio or even acknowledge the rest of the team’s stares. Sure, Hanzo was an eternal asshole, but he _knew _that and didn’t apologize for it. Jesse could respect that.

“Growing up where I did,” Lúcio continued, “in the favelas of Río, most people think that I grew up disadvantaged. And, hey, if we’re talking about money and material comforts maybe they’d be right.” His arms and smile spread wide. “But in friendship, in community, and in love, I was as far from disadvantaged as possible! In those things, I was rich.” 

Jesse leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t thought Lúcio would have a speech prepared on such short notice, but clearly, wonders never ceased with this kid.

“I was never without company,” Lúcio continued. “My brothers, sisters, and cousins all saw to that. I never realized how unusual it was to have a family as large and loving as mine, and when I did find out? Man. That got me. I always, _always _had someone to lean on growing up. So the idea that a kid who scraped his knee might not have a mom to kiss it better? Or that a girl may not have brothers to celebrate her birthdays with? That a man might not have cousins to share in his sorrow after his father’s death--” Choking up, Lúcio held a fist over his heart and closed his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, smile a little watery. 

Lena blinked out of her seat-- blue light highlighting her path out of the conference room and back-- and then blinked to Lúcio’s side with a glass of water. He accepted it gratefully, taking a sip. 

“Thank you. As I was saying, um,” he looked down briefly and when he lifted his head again, his smile had returned as bright as ever. “Family was my everything growing up. I could count on my neighbors across the street just as much as I could count on my mothers across the hall. Some people don’t or can’t rely on their blood family, but families can be so much _more_ than that. I had been blessed with having one of the most colorful and lively families in the world: the favelas of Río! My community _was_ my family. It still is!” He beamed at them. “And now I have joined another family.”

Lúcio set his glass of water down. “Maybe it seems a little presumptuous to call you all family when I haven’t even met everyone. I get that! But I also hope you know that I mean it with all my heart. I _do_ consider you all my family in every way that matters, because we’re going to rely on and support each other through thick and thin.”

“Here, here!” Lena cheered. A smattering of chuckles broke out around the table.

Jesse shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He wasn’t so good with this degree of honesty. Always made him teary. He _hated_ getting teary.

Lúcio‘s eyes sparkled. “Hey, check this out!” He picked up the Babrick. “Right now, I am able to speak to all of you without knowing _any_ of your languages.” He paused, looking around excitedly. “How amazing is that?! I mean, I spent years trying to communicate using only instruments and here exists this amazing invention that lets me talk to _anybody_! What I love so much about music is how it brings us all together and what I love about Babricks is that it’s made to do the same thing! Knowing that I’m not the only one in the world trying to bring us all together like the global community-- like the _family_ we are-- it’s what keeps me going!”

“Like, I promise I’m not gushing for no reason.” Lúcio set the Babrick down. “There’s a point to this. Because, to me and many others, Overwatch was the perfect representation of that global family. Back when the Crisis broke out, the world had no choice but to band together and acknowledge our common humanity so that we could defend ourselves. Overwatch embodied the best our world-- our family-- had to offer.” 

Reyes would’ve had something to say about _that _romantic perception of the Crisis. 

“Even after the Crisis ended,” Lúcio continued, “And omnics joined our family, Overwatch continued to be the physical representation of what we could accomplish if we set aside our differences and moved towards a common goal. For instance, we all remember where we were for the Fall of Overwatch.” 

Around the table, solemn faces nodded. Hell, Jesse could still _smell _the spice and sweat in the run-down taqueria, as an entire town’s worth of people huddled around the one functioning television.

“I had just turned eighteen,” Lúcio said. “I had been performing in underground clubs and I was prepping for another gig that night when the news got out.” He shook his head, dreadlocks swaying. “That was probably one of the worst performances I’ve ever had, music-wise. Everyone was devastated. No one danced, just huddled together in front of the booth. Overwatch was messed up, we all knew that, but we didn’t expect it to end that way-- most of us didn’t expect it to end at all. 

“Even though I wasn’t a part of it, even though I wasn’t even on the same continent, I still felt like I had personally failed Overwatch.”

Jesse winced. He felt that. Hard. 

Lúcio continued uninterrupted, words gaining a plaintive tone. “It was supposed to be the best of us. It was supposed to support us-- but we were supposed to support it, too. We were all responsible for allowing Overwatch to drift so far away without bringing it back into the family fold. What would have happened if I had answered the call? Would I have helped Overwatch become better? Would it have failed anyway?” Lúcio paused, lifting his glass to his lips again, giving them all time to process his words. 

Jesse wishes he hadn’t. He already got preoccupied with the past too often. And he couldn’t pretend he only had a theoretical culpability for the collapse of Overwatch and Blackwatch. He’d been instrumental-- Reyes wouldn’t have been in the Zurich headquarters at all if it weren’t for him. If just _one _of the commanders had lived, maybe Overwatch could have survived. How much better off would the world be if it weren’t for him? 

Well. If wishes were horses.

“We have power.” Lúcio announced, the fire of conviction in his eyes. “We each have the power to free people from their own hate.” He held up the Babrick, “To create devices that translate our love in all languages. To build homes instead of war machines! I am here because I believe the new Overwatch fights for all these things. Without regard for borders or barriers or boundaries, Overwatch fights not for one people or one nation. Overwatch fights for _all_ people and _all _nations. For one family.” He looked around the conference table, making eye contact with every agent. “I am honored to be a part of Overwatch today and I look forward to being a part of the family. Thank you.”

Lúcio sat down, looking abruptly self-conscious after his long speech. Around the room, Jesse could see the contemplation and wonder clear on most everyone’s faces. Even Hanzo was considering Lúcio with an air of appreciation, which _damn_ if that didn’t say something. If being an international vigilante or platinum DJ didn’t work out for Lúcio, he could always make a killing as an inspirational speaker.

No one had broken the spell-like silence, yet, and Lúcio was starting to look a little green with nerves, so Jesse took it as his American duty to begin the applause. Soon the conference room was filled with deafening applause and cheers-- largely thanks to Reinhardt.

“Thank you, Lúcio,” Winston said after the clamor had finally abated. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say we're equally excited to have you with us as a part of our family.” Lúcio gave Winston a thumbs up, his smile a mile wide. “Team, Lúcio will be assisting Dr. Zeigler and acting as a medic on missions. He brings with him specially developed technology that can manipulate audio to produce quantifiable effects on the body! I will be adjusting drill teams, of course, to better integrate Lúcio and to practice working alongside him and his equipment.”

Jesse leaned over to Lúcio. “That was a hell of speech! Great job.”

“Thank you! I was really nervous, so thanks for the reassurance. And, uh, the applause,” Lúcio laughed and Jesse winked.

Winston swiped his tablet a few times. “Now that we have officially welcomed Lúcio to the team, we can address the next item on the agenda. I'd like to congratulate Doctor Zeigler on her successful research iteration.” 

A polite smattering of applause broke out around the table, although Genji's over exuberant clapping was easily the most noticeable. Doc blushed lightly and thanked everyone for their kindness.

“And now for the primary purpose of this meeting-- review of the Eichenwald mission! Genji, as leader of the mission, will now give us his report.” 

Jesse leaned back in his chair, looking forward to hearing the report. He knew the mission had been a success, but they had been so distracted with Lúcio joining up that Genji hadn’t been able to give them details over dinner.

“_Hai_.” Genji sat up straight-- and lord, it was good to see him taking his new duties _far_ more seriously than he did in their Blackwatch days. “Our team of five was tasked with confirming and collecting two Crusader suits suspected to be in the Eichenwald DMZ. Lena was our pilot, Master Zenyatta was our medic, and Reinhardt and Brigitte were our subject matter experts on Eichenwald and suits, respectively.

“We landed without issue at Eichenwald. Lena was able to land us further into the city than we initially expected thanks to her excellent parking skills--” Lena fired finger guns at him. “And collected readings from the on-board Geigermeter before allowing us to disembark. There were many omnic bodies throughout the city, but the vast majority were no longer radioactive and we could easily avoid the ones that were.

“An exception to this was the castle itself. The building was so thick with bodies that we sent two of our team to scout and clear a path. Master Zenyatta selflessly volunteered to collect readings despite the risk to himself.” Zen graciously inclined his head. “Once he determined it was safe, Reinhardt moved the units. Together, they cleared a path wide enough to allow the entire team to enter the castle without fear of injury or illness. We were able to secure both suits that we found in the castle's throne room.” 

Jesse led the applause again, feeling pride bubble in his chest. 

Genji dipped his head in thanks, waiting until the applause died before continuing. “Brigitte will now detail the condition of the suits to us.”

“Thank you, Genji.” Brigitte cleared her throat. “While the purpose of the mission was to secure the Crusader armor, the reason we needed the armor at all was because Reinhardt's is no longer serviceable. I conducted a superficial inspection of the suits on site and ran a few more tests before the meeting,” she said, leaning forward, eyes sparkling. “And I believe that I can confidently announce that the suits can give us what we need!”

Jesse whooped, enjoying being the unofficial hype man of the evening.

“Honestly,” Brigitte enthused giddily, “their condition is astoundingly good considering the environment they've been in for the past two decades. Especially if you remember the reason they were even _in _that environment! The larger suit, von Adler's, will be used to repair and even improve Reinhardt's current set.” She looked up to Reinhardt. 

“It will be my eternal honor to carry my master’s armor into battle,” he said, single eye shining with emotion. “I regret that he was not buried in his armor, but perhaps this is a more poetic end to his story.”

“Yeah, really luck for us that the recovery teams took bodies but not suits.” Brigitte said flatly. “Not at all creepy for us to exploit that.” Reinhardt didn’t seem to hear her, looking off into the middle distance. She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I'll keep the smaller suit in reserve in case we need to make further adjustments going forward. Um, that concludes my report?” Genji nodded at her and she sat back with a relieved sigh.

“An excellent report!” Winston said. “I think this is the smoothest mission we've conducted so far. Does anyone on the team have sustains or improves?”

Hanzo spoke up. “I do.” 

For fuck’s sake. Jesse caught Genji’s eyes so they could roll their eyes together. 

Hanzo folded his hands on the table. “Our primary communication channels failed multiple times throughout the mission. While this did not have an ill effect on the mission itself, it does highlight a weakness in our plans: we do not have alternate means of communication should the Lark's transmitters go offline.”

Hold up. _Dead comms_? Jesus, there wasn’t any horror as bone-deep or chilling as discovering you’re the only one on the line-- but Genji knew that, too, and he was shaking his head at his brother. Jesse frowned, racking his mind for answers-- and remembered the obviously fake “interference” Lena experienced on her call to Olympus. He laughed, half relieved and half amused at Hanzo’s clever wording.

Winston, however, was not in on the joke and was suitably alarmed. “I was not aware of any comm outages. This could be serious! Lena, perhaps you should conduct diagnostics on the Lark.”

“I'll, er, get right on that.” Lena laughed nervously. Lord, he never brought popcorn to the right meetings. “I'm sure it's nothing, though! You know how it can be with, er, comms. Only down when you need 'em! Must've been… solar flares!” She giggled as Hanzo watched her with a flat expression. “Yeah, solar weather temporarily knocking comms offline.”

Hanzo didn’t bother to acknowledge her, turning to Winston instead. Guess that made him the better man. Jesse would’ve made her squirm a bit longer. “Again, my issue is that we do not have multiple comm options in the event one fails.”

“Alright, I will make a note of that and figure out what alternatives we have or can afford,” Winston said, tapping at his tablet. 

“Another thing,” Hanzo said, raising his hand slightly. “Is that the team did not adhere to the plan laid out prior to departure.”

“_Anija_,” Genji said in clear exasperation. “Flexibility in executing a plan is not a bad thing.”

Hanzo shook his head. “There is flexibility as required by a change in circumstances and then there is blatant disregard for the established strategy.” “Um, what changes were made?” Winston asked, out of the loop once again.

“Oxton did not stay on the Lark and Genji did not report on an hourly basis.” 

Even from where he sat, Jesse could hear Genji muttering darkly. Seriously, popcorn or jerky or even gum, _something_ to chew on during the show.

“Well,” Winston began diplomatically, “we’ve already established that there’s a need to reevaluate our communications. The comms may have been non-functional when Genji was meant to call in.”

Hanzo gave Genji a withering glare. “And Oxton?”

“I just wanted to stretch my legs!” Lena said, literally jumping to her own defence. “I hate being cooped up for missions all the time. I want to do _more_ than just fly and land a plane.”

“How could you expect to be given _more _responsibility when you cannot manage the responsibilities you have now?” Hanzo challenged.

Winston scratched his chest. “I understand your frustration, Lena, but there was a reason we asked you to stay on the Lark. It may not be as exciting as being a part of the ground team, but you’re still doing a vital job when you relay comms.”

“I know.” Lena hung her head, looking dead miserable.

Jesse shifted in his seat before sighing and playing his hand. The fun had to end eventually. “Why don’t we just adjust the plan going forward so it better suits the individuals on the team?” he asked. “I mean, we know Lena can’t sit still for nothin’--” she shrugged apologetically, finally remembering to sit down “--why are we askin’ her to do it anyway? It’s unfair to her _and _to the team who’s relying on her to do that job.”

“Everyone should pull their own weight,” Brigitte interjected, though not as venomous in tone as Jesse might have expected. Maybe getting the suits had taken a load of stress off her shoulders.

“Ah,” Reinhardt said. “But we should also play to everyone’s strengths, _fraulein_.”

“_My_ frustration lies with creating plans only to disregard them with no valid reason,” Hanzo asserted. “We should not create strategies we have no intention of carrying out. If that means we deliberately plan to have no dedicated communicator, then so be it. Otherwise we are setting ourselves up for failure.”

Winston rubbed his chin. “I see your point, Hanzo. Planning meetings shouldn’t be for show, especially when we know each others’ capabilities and limitations so well.” He nodded, satisfied. “We’ll be sure to take these considerations in for the next mission we plan. Does this satisfy everyone’s concerns?”

Jesse half-expected Hanzo to say ‘no’ out of spite, but the other man simply nodded once. Everyone else was also giving their north-south agreement.

“Then it’s settled. Is there anything else someone would like to say for the good of the group?”

“One thing,” Doc said as she yawned widely. Poor woman looked about ready to pass out on the spot. “Medical services were not required during the mission, but I would like to remind everyone that post-mission evaluations will be the standard going forward. Zenyatta will be conducting the check-ups this evening in the medical bay.”

“Except for young Genji,” Zen clarified, setting a hand on Doc’s shoulder in apparent concern.

Winston nodded. “Thank you everyone for coming out. Meeting adjourned!”

“Genji’s getting a _personal_ check up from Doc, huh?” Jesse asked, waggling his brows.

Genji glared at him. “Better a personal doctor than a personal chef,” He shot back and _holy shit_ maybe he should lay off him for a bit because that was ruthless. Better to disengage now.

“Uhhh, hey, Lúcio, want me to help you pick out a room?” 

Lúcio had barely agreed before Jesse ushered him out of the conference room, far from Genji’s sharp words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, i have mixed feelings about this chapter, but here it is. There are two more chapters before this arc ends and in that time i have to write 5 more chapters to finish arc 2. Then i need to edit arc 2. What i'm tryin to say is... i'm cuttin it close and i might have to have a gap week or two at the start of the new year. Doin my best to avoid that situation <s>and lord knows my grammy will kill me if i don't get her arc 2 as a xmas present lol</s> but we'll see how it goes!


	20. Restless

“Thank you again for helping me clean up the lab,” Angela said. Genji could hear her rifling through papers on the other side of the cabinet.

He carefully set the glass slides down before responding. “Of course. Did I not say that I would?”

“Ah, well, you know how it is. Things come up.”

“Nothing can stand between you and me,” he teased, knocking on the filing cabinet separating them.

She hummed noncommittally. Genji looked up and paused, hoping she was just thinking over a witty retort. The seconds trickled by with no reply. That… was not encouraging.

“Angela?” She didn’t answer. Genji leaned back to see her already engrossed in a data read out. The sight of his studious girlfriend ensnared by yet another report made him smile, but the uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t fade completely. 

Their relationship seemed to have these moments often. Genji leaning in, Angela leaning away. He’ll step forwards, she’ll step back. Every exchange felt one-sided, like Angela was holding back.

It scared him.

Quickly putting the measuring instruments in their proper places, Genji walked up behind Angela, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. She patted his arm, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge him. That was okay. This, at least, wasn’t different from how they used to be. She’ll address him once she’s finished reading. The minutes seemed to flow slowly and Genji contented himself by matching his breathing to Angela’s as he waited. Finally, Angela leaned her head against his.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Fine.” Her response made him frown. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just checking on you.” Hoping there was a reason why things didn’t feel right_._

“Well, I am doing wonderful,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, sending a wave of warmth through his bones. “How are you, spätzli?”

“Perfect,” He replied, burrowing his face in the crook of her neck.

And all considered, he really was. Nearly every waking moment was tinged with a nearly surreal quality and he reveled in the near miracle that his life had become. Living on an island in the Mediterranean with his mentor, his brother, his best friend, and the love of his life-- he had come far from his Blackwatch days, when his greatest hope for happiness was dying. Now, heaven was in every heartbeat, paradise in every passing thought.

Perhaps the euphoria was what made it all feel so ephemeral.

As Angela pulled away from him, the anticipation of loss intensified. Nothing could last forever, but could this last at all? How long until Winston could no longer hold Overwatch together? How long until Hanzo’s guilt pushed him to another self-imposed exile? Until Jesse’s sense of self-preservation outweighed his loyalty? 

...Until Angela found a new project?

“Have you seen my notebook?” She asked from across the lab, digging through the cabinets they had just finished organizing.

“Which one?”

“The one I was just using! I thought of an alternate method of application for the nanite-beam and I need to write it down before I forget.” As Angela continued babbling about her most recent idea, Genji scooped her notebook from under the pile of paperwork she had just been reading. He didn’t interrupt her, knowing that she was talking to keep the thoughts in her head rather than to _explain_ said thoughts, and gently pressed the book into her hands. “Ah! Yes, exactly what I was looking for.”

Genji leaned on the counter next to her, propping his chin in his hand, watching her etch out mad science in indecipherable scribbles. What could be holding her back from him? Was it something that he’d done? Something he _hadn’t_ done?

He huffed softly. It wasn’t like him to be so self-doubting. It didn’t matter if he’d done something to upset Angela, because he would never do such a thing on purpose. She would forgive him as long as he apologized, and he was _very_ good at apologizing to Angela.

Glancing at the clock, Genji decided that a quarter past ten was as good a time as any to call it a night. He slid a hand down her arm and when he reached her hand he gripped it tightly. 

Angela turned to him, an adorably confused look puckering her face. “Spätzli? Oh, no, don’t tell me you’re dragging me out of the lab already, it’s barely--” Her voice cut off as she made a quick glance to the clock, and her lips twisted into a pout. A very _kissable _pout.

Genji grinned and moved in, cupping her face and drawing her closer before pressing his lips to hers. Her initial protest changed to a pleased hum as she pulled him closer. After a few breathless seconds they broke free. Genji gasped lightly, relishing the heat in his face and the tingle on his lips, fervently thanking every imaginable god that his face hadn’t needed cybernetic “enhancements”.

“Sorry,” he whispered teasingly. “Let me make it up to you.”

Angela smirked, running her nails through his hair. His eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation, but it was nothing compared to the electric sizzle that seized his spine when she whispered back, “You better.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse burst into Winston’s office, not bothering with formalities and getting right to the point: “Listen, Winston, I don’t care if the next mission is to Mars, I’ve gotta get off this island.”

“Uh,” Winston started, peanut butter halfway to his open mouth. A chunk fell from his hand, landing back in the jar with a forlorn _plop_. “I, um, am not planning any interplanetary expeditions at the moment.” He set the peanut butter down. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jesse said quickly, a little high pitched, desperately trying to block images of Genji and Angela in the med bay— fuck, too late! God _damn _it, all he wanted was some pain meds for muscle soreness, he didn’t deserve this!

“O-kay,” Winston said, returning his attention to extracting peanut butter from the jar. “We don’t really have any pending missions. Why don’t you take some leave?”

Jesse snorted. “Where would I go on leave to? 60 mil on my head, remember?”

“I don’t see your point.” Winston said with his spoon in his mouth. “That bounty always exists when you leave this base, it doesn’t matter if you’re on mission or vacation.”

“Well… s’pose you’re right.” Jesse scuffed his boot on the floor before throwing himself in a nearby chair-- a _clean_ one at that. Hanzo must still be helping Winston with chores... “At least I wouldn’t be alone while dodgin’ bounty hunters, though.”

Winston shrugged. “Ask one of the other agents to go on vacation with you.”

Unbidden, a mental image of vacationing in Hawaii with Genij and Doc being lovebirds popped into his mind.

“…I’m not going to ask what that grimace is for.”

“It’d be best for your health,” Jesse agreed. “C’mon, buddy, there’s gotta be _something_. Data recovery, escort a politician, maybe protect some poor former Overwatch agent from getting a surprise lobotomy?”

“Um, still no.”

Jesse groaned.

“Technically, this is a good thing,” Winston reminded him. “It means Talon is keeping a low profile. I haven’t discovered any suspicious deaths in the past month.”

“What— really?”

“Of course,” Winston added, waving his spoon in the air. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the deaths stopped at roughly the same time Ogundimu escaped from prison.”

Jesse racked his brain for who Ogundimu might be, but came up empty. It _sounded_ familiar, but he just couldn’t place it. “Who?”

“Akande Ogundimu. You might know him as Doomfist?”

“Ah. That bastard.” Still not ringing any bells, but he’d figure it out sooner or later.

“Quite.” Winston stuck another spoonful of peanut butter in his mouth, talking around it. “I suspect he’s wrested back control of Talon.”

Interesting. “Why would that explain the lack of deaths?”

“Ogundimu is known for his...” He pulled his spoon out with a _pop_. “Unique perspective on the world. He has ‘grander ambitions’ than general unrest and profiting off others’ misery.”

“Like?”

Winston looked at him. “Like starting another war between omnics and humans.”

Jesse scrunched his nose. Why the _hell_ would anyone want another Omnic Crisis? “That’s…”

“Disturbing?”

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you have an art for overstatement. How d’you know all this?”

Rolling his eyes, Winston scraped the bottom of the jar. “He’s a monologuing type and was very _upset _when I put him in prison.”

_Now_ he remembered! It had been five years ago when Doomfist was arrested. It was such big news that it even reached the rickety Alaskan workhouse Jesse’d been shacked up in. He didn’t remember it ever mentioning _who_ put Doomfist in prison. “Shit, that was you?”

“No,” Winston chuckled. “It was the other gorilla who just happened to be in the area.”

“Someone been teachin’ you sass?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe we all need a vacation…”

Winston sighed. “If you’re really that desperate for a mission, I can send a team to Dorado.”

_That_ perked him up. “Dorado?”

“Yes, it’s a coastal city in Mexico—”

“I know where Dorado is,” Jesse interrupted. “I’m wondering what kinda business we’ve got in a high-class resort town.” He lifted his hat and scratched a hand through his hair, thinking. “I feel like we’ve talked about it before for some reason.”

Winston hummed. “Lumerico is an energy company that has its regional headquarters there. I suspect that Talon is conducting some sort of deal with them.” He looked up suddenly, a suspiciously guilty expression on his face. “Um, I might have mentioned them while talking about recovery from the first Omnic Crisis?” _No, that wasn’t it..._ “They’re the ones that spearheaded the rebuilding of Mexican infrastructure post-Crisis--”

Jesse snapped his fingers. “That 76 guy!”

“Uhhh.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Winston, I’m better at it. You want us to go check out Soldado: 76, don’t you?”

“No!” Winston denied automatically, the way people did when they were caught red-handed. “There’s legitimately Talon activity in the area! I mean… if you _happened _to run into him and ask if he’s Morrison long-lost brother—”

Jesse shook his head. “Ain’t happenin’, bud.”

“Well, then,” Winston sniffed, “I guess there aren’t any missions available.”

When the hell did Winston grow a spine? Building character was _bullshit_. Jesse stared at him, hoping to unnerve him. When it didn’t work, he sat back with a huff. “…I’m not going out of my way to look for him, but if I do _happen _to see him, I’ll tell him hello for you.”

“Excellent!” Winston exclaimed, looking unbearably smug. “We can begin planning at the next meeting. Or rather, you’ll _brief _your plan at the meeting.”

“Come again?”

“As the team lead, you will select your teammates and plan the mission to Dorado,” Winston said. “I’ll prep a dossier for you so you can have background information.”

“Hey now, I didn’t sign up for--”

“You declined to go on leave, you asked for a mission. Now you have a mission. That makes you mission lead, Jesse.”

Jesse squinted at Winston, thinking. “Was it Genji?” He asked aloud. “Nah, couldn’t be. Genji’s all about peace and harmony now. It was Doc wasn’t it?”

Winston gave him a side-eye. “What are you talking about?”

“_Someone’s_ been teachin’ you sass and I wanna know who it is!”

Winston laughed. “I suppose you could say I learned from the best.”

Who would Winston consider the best at sass? If it wasn’t Genji or Angela, that only left a few people who both spent time with Winston and had a sarcasm streak a mile wide--ah, he knows _exactly_ who had been in here recently! 

“...Hanzo. I knew he was up to no good, that sneaky--”

Winston rolled his eyes. “_You,_ Jesse. I’ve been learning from you.”

“What?” Jesse gasped. “Sass from _me_?” He scoffed and shoved his hat back on his head. “I am the very _picture_ of sincerity. You know what this is? Character assassination! You hear me? Character_. Assassination_. Why, I have half a mind to quit--”

“I can still cancel the mission.”

“Right, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Winston, have a blessed evenin’.” Jesse quickly ducked out of the lab before Winston made good on his word to cancel his vacation.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

_Breathe in_. Take in the world, its darkness, its grime. Its hate.

Hold. Hold it in and squeeze it. Pressurize. _Transform_. Be the conduit which reforms the darkness to light.

_Breathe out_. Release the love and kindness. Visualize it taking form, returning the compassion to the world. See it spread warmth and joy, reaching out, touching his face, kissing his lips…

⟪You are unfocused.⟫

Genji flinched to awareness. Master Zenyatta was looking at him, amused, if his dancing orbs were anything to go by.

⟪Thinking of Angela again?⟫

Blushing, Genji wished for the thousandth time that week that Master allowed him to wear his mask during meditation. The transition from Nepal to the outside world had been hard enough. Before, there was no pressure, no rush. Outside, there was never _enough_. A task could always be performed harder, done better, _faster_. Not to mention, there had been few distractions at the monastery, but there was no shortage of them here. Now that he was with Overwatch again… with Angela again, it was so much worse.

He was transfixed. He couldn’t focus on his thoughts because his thoughts were of her. He couldn’t focus on his heartbeat because it skipped at any reminder of her. He couldn’t seem to focus on _anything _that wasn’t Angela.

And Master Zenyatta never missed a single slip.

⟪It seems that you have been more distracted as of late.⟫

Genji sighed and slouched from the proper sitting form. ⟪It is frustrating, Master. All these years training with you and I feel like I am further behind than when we started. I cannot focus.⟫

⟪You have not been tested in this manner before, my student.⟫ Master chuckled. ⟪One cannot expect to fly in hurricanes as well as one can fly in clear skies.⟫

_But these _are_ clear skies_, Genji thought as he shifted into a more comfortable position. Everything was going well, the unease he felt had no basis in reality. Even when he got swept up in the honeymoon phase with Angela, there was an undercurrent of worry and he couldn’t understand _why--_

⟪Perhaps there is a reason,⟫ Master began, ⟪that your thoughts are drawn to this particular topic. Instead of forcing yourself to focus on other things, why not let your thoughts run their course? Discover what it is about these thoughts that draw you to them.⟫

⟪Yes, Master.⟫ Genji closed his eyes and recentered himself. 

Honestly, the answer seemed pretty obvious. It was like the prayer flags at the monastery. They pleased every sense Genji had access to-- the crisp fluttering sounds as the wind breathed through them, their bright colors against the monotone mountain. He could easily imagine how the fabric would feel against his skin, each weave infused with the compassion and hope of its creator. 

When he first started meditating outside, the flags would catch his attention at every teasing snap and flirtatious wave. By the end, though, he could focus on them at will. Well, _usually_. When the winds were particularly strong, he would find himself looking at them more often, worried that the mountain gales would carry them away to-- _oh_.

Genji opened his eyes. ⟪I am worried about losing her.⟫ He spoke the words slowly, discovering their truth as he said them.

⟪Oh? In what way?⟫

Isn’t there only one interpretation of the phrase? Master would not ask without reason though. Genji thought of the silences, the stilted conversations, the way she never leaned into him first. ⟪Angela is with me physically, but will not stand by me emotionally. I... do not know why.⟫

⟪Do you really not know why?⟫ Master asked skeptically.

⟪I know why it _used_ to be like this,⟫ Genji defended. ⟪It took time for us to rebuild our friendship after the Fall.⟫

⟪After the Fall?⟫ Again, an edge of doubt.

⟪After I… left.⟫ He admitted.

Master hummed approvingly. ⟪And how long did it take to rebuild your friendship?⟫

Genji side-eyed Master. Master simply sat, watching him placidly. He knew Genji didn’t want to answer this question. ⟪One could say we’re still rebuilding,⟫ he eventually said. He looked away from Master and shifted in place again, trying to find an outlet for his frustration. ⟪So you believe that I am moving too fast?⟫

⟪The speed at which a team of horses moves does not matter, so long as they move at the same pace.⟫

⟪So I am getting ahead of Angela,⟫ he concluded. ⟪I have not healed our relationship from when I left. She expects me to leave.⟫

Always, these expectations. From everyone. Forever. Even after extricating himself from the Shimada-gumi, even after he was free from Blackwatch and Overwatch, he still had to struggle with expectations. He was an entirely different man than even five years ago, why did Jesse expect him to be the same as he was in Blackwatch? Why did Hanzo expect him to be as reckless as he was in his youth? Why did Angela expect him to abandon her in the same way he did at one of the weakest moments in his life? Only Master ever seemed to have no expectations.

⟪You are brooding, Genji.⟫

_Fine_, those things weren’t fair to say. The seeds he had planted years ago had grown to bear poisonous fruit. He _had _abandoned Angela, how could he expect her to immediately forgive him for that? Even if she forgave him in her mind, her heart would still remember the wound. How it must have felt to wake up one morning and find your trusted companion, your confidant, your best friend simply _gone_.

...He knew exactly what that felt like. Iris, she was the one who supported him after Jesse disappeared. And he _still _did it to her in return.

Genji leaned forward, digging his elbows into his knees and holding his face in his hands. 

⟪How can I earn her trust back?⟫ He asked aloud.

⟪How did I earn your trust?⟫ Master countered.

It is true that Genji had been very… cautious, when he first arrived at the Shambali. Though he craved the peace and healing he suspected he would find within the monastery’s walls, it was difficult to believe that they wouldn’t take advantage of his state. His family had manipulated him, Blackwatch had given him a one-sided ultimatum, and even Overwatch had used him to promote a new pro-omnic message against his will. What would make the Shambali any different?

His suspicion and anger had made his placement difficult. While other students found masters within their first few days of arrival, Genji was without a master for three weeks. His relief at becoming Master Zenyatta’s disciple was outweighed only by his rampant distrust.

⟪You were patient,⟫ Genji finally said. ⟪But you were also firm.⟫

⟪I was, but how did I communicate that to you? What did I _do_?⟫

⟪You kept to your word. You were always honest.⟫

Master nodded approvingly. ⟪I used words and acts of affirmation to reassure you that I would neither abandon nor betray you. What do you think you could say or do for Angela that would affirm your relationship? You do not have to tell me, but I encourage you to consider it for the rest of our session today.⟫

Genji nodded. By the time he unfolded his legs and bowed to Master, he knew _exactly_ what he needed to do.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

⟪Brother, I need your help.⟫ Genji said as he burst into the kitchen.

Hanzo sipped his tea, observing the eager, almost frantic bent to his spine. Whatever trouble Genji had found himself in, it was causing him an unusual amount of distress. ⟪In what way can I provide assistance?⟫

To Hanzo’s surprise, Genji removed his mask before beginning his rant. ⟪Master Zenyatta said that in order to regain Angela’s affections I must do acts of affirmation and the best way I know how to do that is to take her on a date but I am worried that I won’t get it right and I realized if there’s anyone that’s overly stuffy and formal and could help me sweep her off her feet again it’d be you--⟫

Hanzo held up a hand, relieved when Genji’s rapid-fire speech stopped. ⟪Genji,⟫ he said slowly. ⟪Did you just ask _me _for dating advice?⟫

⟪Isn’t that what an older brother is for?⟫ Hanzo leveled a Look in his direction. Genji pouted. ⟪It’s not like I’m asking for romantic advice, I just need help coming up with ideas of what to do for our date.⟫

⟪Be that as it may, I am sure that any of the other agents on base would be able to provide you with better advice than I can.⟫

A glint entered Genji’s eye and Hanzo reflexively pulled his bowl of food closer to his chest. ⟪Is that so, brother? _Any _agent would be better than you for this?⟫

Hanzo only stared suspiciously, not liking the expression on Genji’s face _at all_.

“Jesse!” Genji shouted. “Over here!”

Looking over his shoulder, Hanzo bit back a sigh. McCree did not usually take his dinner so early, so it was a surprise that he stood at the far counter, the meal Hanzo made for him in hand. Of course, was it not his luck that Genji would demand advice the one night all their schedules aligned?

McCree strode over to their table, sitting next to Genji, barely giving Hanzo a glance. “‘Sup, Genji?”

“I need your help--”

McCree interrupted with loud slurp of coffee, eyeing Genji with a shrewd look. “Yeah. I’mma stop you right there. See, the last time you asked for my help, we ended up kidnapping an ex-Yakuza leader, who once-upon-a-time sliced ’n’ diced you worse than a chainsaw artist hopped up on heroin, and has since been a quintessential dick.” Hanzo rolled his eyes. “So I’m gonna go with ‘no’.”

Genji snorted. “Your creatively phrased _maybe _would be more convincing if you were not eating my brother’s cooking.”

“He’s a good cook,” McCree grumbled, pulling his bowl of fish and rice closer to his corner of the table without looking at either of them. Hanzo felt no urge to preen at the compliment, aware that McCree considered _grease _to be an essential ingredient in burgers.

“I want to take Angela on a date,” Genji continued, “and it has to be _perfect_.”

“And you think _I’m_ the guy who could help you?” McCree gestured up and down at himself, though one hand still clutched his bowl. 

Hanzo frowned. He was usually the first to point out flaws, but outside of McCree’s… exuberant style of dress, he was attractive, friendly to those not named Hanzo, and loose with compliments. Hanzo would have certainly thought he’d be better equipped to dispense dating advice.

“Of course, you’d be a great help!” Genji said. “Anything you say I will simply do the opposite.” 

“Well in that case,” McCree said with a deadpan drawl. “Treat her with the respect she deserves and be open with your obvious love and affection.”

“I _knew _the strip club was a good idea.”

“You still frequent those establishments?” Hanzo asked, appalled.

“It was a joke, _anija_!”

“Was it, though?” McCree asked with a sly grin. Genji flicked a piece of rice in his face.

Atrocious manners. Hanzo cleared his throat. “What do you have planned so far?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Genji said cheerfully, though his anxious body language betrayed him.

“Well, when are you takin’ Doc out on the town?” McCree asked between bites. “Tomorrow.”

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose while McCree pulled his hat over his face.

“What?” Genji asked.

Hanzo took a deep breath. “You cannot _possibly _expect to plan a ‘perfect’ date in twenty-four hours.”

Genji ducked his chin. “Yes I can.”

Shaking his head, McCree sighed. “Well, at least tomorrow’s a weekday. You might be able to pull off some dinner reservations.”

“I’ve always thought home-cooked meals were considered more intimate,” Hanzo said, not quite managing the inflection of a question.

“Maybe if Genji was capable of usin’ the kitchen without startin’ a fire,” McCree countered.

“...Fires are romantic.” Genji grumbled.

“So,” McCree said, ignoring Genji. “Is dinner enough, or are you lookin’ to make this an all-day thing?”

“All day! Angela deserves the best.”

Jesse snorted. “If that was true, she wouldn’t be datin’ you.”

Hanzo felt his lips twitch with amusement. “What we choose for ourselves is not always what is best for ourselves.”

Genji narrowed his eyes. “I cannot tell if you are insulting me or defending me, _anija_.”

“I have not yet decided,” Hanzo teased.

“Alright, so we’ve got dinner,” McCree said, bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand. “You should probably do breakfast in bed-- a breakfast that doesn’t involve cooking, mind. What do you want to do between that?”

“Well, there is not much to do on Gibraltar,” Genji said contemplatively. “And I do not want to spend too much time traveling. With the way she has been working, I am worried she will fall asleep before we reach any destination.”

Hanzo hummed thoughtfully. “If you want her to relax, why not a spa day?”

Genji seemed nonplussed. “I’d rather do an activity we can both participate in.”

“There are couple’s spa packages,” Hanzo said dismissively. “Just do one of those.”

“And then what?” Genji gestured up and down at his body. “There is little they can do for me.”

Hanzo flinched, shame overcoming him. He looked down, not wanting to see whatever expression of outage or anger might be on Genji and McCree’s faces. He sensed McCree shift in the seat across from him and braced himself for the biting insults.

“You might be mostly metal, but you’re not _all_ metal.” McCree tapped on his own prosthetic arm. Cautiously, Hanzo glanced up at McCree, listening as he addressed Genji. “It feels real nice to have the transition areas massaged. Plus, there’s face massages, acupuncture, waxing, brows, steam rooms, mud baths, aromatherapy, overpriced smoothie bars-- and those are just the things you can do with your human bits. There’s spas that cater to our kind, that’ll do maintenance on your mechanics.” McCree made a face. “Not sure if you’d be into that though, it feels really… exposed.” 

Genji shuddered lightly.

As McCree spoke, Hanzo allowed himself to gradually relax. He had made a severe error, yes, but neither Genji nor McCree had brought it to bear. If they did not want to bring attention to it, perhaps… Perhaps he should let it go.

“You seem to know quite a bit about spas,” Hanzo said tentatively.

McCree shrugged. “Things you pick up when your old gang’s boss loves the luxuries in life.”

Gang leader? He had not heard them refer to their former commander as such before. “...Your Commander Reyes?”

Genji and Jesse both burst out laughing. “No! Lord, I can’t imagine him sittin’ still long enough to make it through the waitin’ room, let alone a decent massage.” 

“You are not much better, Jesse,” Genji pointed out.

“At least I wouldn’t threaten the receptionist while I fidgeted!” McCree coughed, still smiling. “But yeah, before, uh, _Overwatch_, I was in a gang in the States. Boss was a woman named Ashe. That’s who I meant by ‘old gang’.”

“I am still not sold on a spa day,” Genji announced, propping his chin on his hand. “I could take her to the arcade instead, it would be just like old times!”

“And that is a good thing?” Hanzo asked skeptically, recalling Genji’s _many_ conquests in Hanamura.

“Of course it is,” Genji said, though a hint of doubt tinged his words.

“How’s an escape room sound?” Jesse asked. “Heard Brigitte and Reinhardt talkin’ about one that’s decent in town. Not as loud or as crowded as arcades, but still fun.”

Genji hummed contemplatively. “That might work.”

“What is an escape room?” Hanzo asked curiously.

McCree shrugged and took another bite of his dinner. “It’s this sorta themed-out room or series of rooms that you get locked in and the goal is to get back out.”

“You pay to get locked in a room?”

Genji laughed. “You can still leave whenever you would like, _anija_, but the goal is to finish the series of puzzles quickly. The door ‘unlocking’ is just how the game ends.”

“And Doctor Zeigler enjoys such puzzles?”

“Ah,” Genji began, looking worried. “I am not sure. Maybe?”

McCree slapped Genji’s back. “Don’t overthink this, bud. It’s not like you’re on a thirty day trial. You and Angela have all the time in the world to go on dates and the like. There ain’t nothin’ to be anxious about.”

“Anxious?” Genji asked, giggling nervously. Hanzo frowned, surprised Genji was even capable of an emotion that wasn’t ‘obnoxiously confident and outgoing’. “I am not anxious. What makes you think I’m anxious?” He stood abruptly. “Right, spa day! Escape room! It will go great, thanks for all your advice but look at the time I got to go bye!” Then he all but sprinted out of the kitchen, leaving Hanzo and McCree alone.

They looked at each other.

Hanzo quickly ate the last of his dinner and stood.

“Wait, Hanzo.”

He looked down at McCree, wary. McCree scratched at his beard.

“There’s a mission coming up and Winston’s tagged me as the lead. You want in?”

“That is what we agreed on, is it not? I am unsure why you phrased it as a question.”

“Cause I’m polite? How’d you rather I do it? ‘Mission in a week, be there’?”

“That would have been acceptable, yes.”

McCree mumbled something that sounded like ‘lost cause’. “Look, Winston’s bein’ a little more hands-off with the new missions. He wants me to pick all our teammates and brief the mission before we go.”

“Yes?” Where was McCree going with this?

“Well, you wanna help me out?”

“That is outside the parameters of our agreement.”

“I know,” McCree gritted out. “How’d you like to help out _anyway_?”

Hanzo considered for a moment. It did not make sense that McCree was asking for assistance. His background in both covert and traditional paramilitary operations indicated that he should have no issue coordinating the mission himself. McCree did not strike him as particularly lazy, so he did not think his aim was to avoid work. 

Perhaps… it was a peace offering?

Hanzo reseated himself. “How can I assist?”


	21. Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Omnic racism (slurs, prejudice); mild violence

Genji carefully sliced through the tender skin, separating it from the flesh beneath so finely that the morning light illuminated it in a warm glow. Peeling the layer of skin back, he let it curl over itself, forming the final petal for the rose-shaped plum. It had taken him all of the peaceful, early dawn hours to carefully cut all the fruit into flowers. Roses, lilies, daisies-- he had them all spread across a large tray; a garden of delights.

“This is wonderful, Genji!” Reinhardt exclaimed, examining the arrangement of fruit, cheese, and meats with an appreciative eye. “Such care! Such devotion! An expression of youthful true love-- why, my heart swells with joy!”

Laughing lightly to himself, Genji shook his head. Reinhardt had a talent for making even the most trivial task seem like a tale for the ages. “Thank you again for your help,” Genji said to him. “Especially for the sausages. It was very lucky for me that you were awake this early. Angela does not enjoy tofu as much as I do.”

“The early bird gets the protein worms!” Reinhardt grimaced. “Ach, no, that sounded poorly…”

Genji laughed. “Really, though, thank you.”

“It is no trouble!” Reinhardt beamed, slapping Genji’s shoulder forcefully. “Ah, to be in love again. To be young again! I do not know which I would enjoy more.” A dreamy look entered Reinhardt’s eye as his gaze slipped to the middle distance.

Leaving him to reminisce in favor of the task at hand, Genji puzzled on how to actually carry their breakfast. He may have gotten a… little carried away with the amount of food. There was barely enough room on the tray for a glass of water and mug of coffee, but he managed in the end. Turns out his tetris arcade skills _did _translate to the real world.

“How does it look?” He finally asked Reinhardt when he felt satisfied with the presentation.

“Hm!” Reinhardt broke out of his daydreaming and peered closely at the tray, turning it this way and that to view it from every possible angle before nodding approvingly. “It looks magnificent! Although,” he paused, a sly spark in his eye. “I think it could use one last finishing touch.” From behind his back Reinhardt pulled a single red rose, placing it along the edge of the plate. Where had he been keeping that? When did he even get it?! “There! Now Angela is sure to fall for you.”

“It would be quite a feat to have her fall out of bed,” Genji said, still confused about the rose but feeling pleased when Reinhardt guffawed loudly. “It is too late for that, anyway.” He grinned, speaking with a confidence he did not entirely feel. “I made her fall for me months ago.”

“Ah,” Reinhardt shook a massive finger, still grinning as he turned to leave the kitchen. “It is a mistake to think that love is anything less than an eternal freefall! To stop falling in love is to stop _being_ in love. Have a good day, Genji!”

Genji nearly stumbled where he stood, the previous days’ anxiety slamming into him all at once. To stop falling is to stop loving? Is that what had gone wrong? Maybe Angela had truly fell for him, once. Iris, if only he had worked on himself sooner, accepted help sooner, none of this would have happened! If he hadn’t been so weak, he could have been there for Angela instead of fleeing to the Himalayas--

No. He had to stop. Thinking like this did nothing. It didn’t change the past and it kept him from participating in the present.

Forcibly shaking the doubt away, Genji took a deep breath and lifted the tray. Angela _would _fall for him if he had to throw her off a cliff to do it! ...Ah, a short cliff. One with a pile of feathers at the bottom. And kittens. 

He paused for a moment, readjusting the tray in his arms and learning its balance, leaving the kitchen with a determined spring in his step. He could do this! 

Thanks to his flawless and electronically-assisted sense of balance, he had no trouble carrying the heavy tray to Angela’s room, even holding it in one hand as he tapped in the code. Poking his head into her sitting room, he saw that the bedroom door next to Angela’s couch was still closed, which could only mean she was still asleep. Well, that was normal for this time of day. 

Her organized, clean sitting room, on the other hand, was _far_ from normal. All her clothes were in a hamper instead of spread across the floor and she had her research notes on only _one_ desk. He didn’t even have to clear off a table to set the tray down-- her kitchenette bar was actually bare. Did she clean up for him? Pleased with the thought, Genji removed his mask to enjoy the morning atmosphere without a filter. 

The peaceful dawn kept his interest for almost five minutes. Maybe he should check on Angela. Just in case.

Careful not to make noise, he cracked open her bedroom door. As he expected, she was still in bed. He paused in the doorway, feeling a bubble of warmth expand in his chest at the sight of her sleeping. Several soft blankets were piled on top of her as if she wasn’t living in a Mediterranean summer, one arm sticking in the air at an improbable angle, her steady breathing as sure a sign as any that she wouldn’t wake anytime soon. He could see her alarm on her bedside table and winced when it read 07:48. 

Okay, maybe he was a _little _eager to bring Angela breakfast. Nothing wrong with some excitement, right? Still, her usual alarm was for nine and he had preserved enough good sense to know better than wake her early. He closed the door as quietly as he opened it and stood in the middle of her sitting room. Now what?

His eyes landed on the coffee mug cooling on the overstuffed tray. With a little over an hour until Angela wakes, the coffee would definitely be too cold to drink unless he did something. Good thing she had a hot plate in her-- oh. 

Genji stared at the wave of dishes spread on the floor, having tumbled out from the second he opened the kitchen cabinet. He laughed to himself, still taking care to be quiet. Angela must have shoved all the usual clutter in to cabinets and closets to make the room look clean. It was one thing if she happened to clean up before he came over, but she didn't need to _pretend_ she had the time or energy to clean house. That's what he was for!

He fished out the hot plate from the mountain of cookware and set it up on the counter. Having saved coffee from the tragic fate of prematurely cooling, he started clearing up the pile on the floor.

It was tedious work, washing and organizing the dishes, but also relaxing. The still morning hours where the world was not yet awake, still lost to dreams and dew, were his favorite. Always had been. Even as a boy, he would wake up with the dawn and sneak out of the palace to watch sparrows scavenge for food in the gardens. Hanzo would reprimand him for skipping morning meditation to go bird watching, but Genji never felt as tranquil sitting in an empty room as he did listening to the spirit of the world.

By the time he was drying the last of the pans, the nerves that had plagued him were finally starting to settle. Everything had settled into perspective. As Jesse had said, they had all the time in the world to date. There was no rush, no deadline before it all went up in smoke. He was at peace with it now. Completely and totally-- oh _shit_ was that Angela’s alarm?

He rushed to put the dishes away, darting to the tray and giving it a once-over to ensure everything was still in its place. Looked good, he just had to get it to her without spill-- the coffee! How could he forget the coffee? He double-backed to the kitchen, quickly pulling the still-warm coffee from the hot plate and setting it on the full breakfast tray. Okay, tray, food, coffee, happy face. All set!

She was still in bed when he entered her room, although in a different position. Her arm was spread across the entire bed, hand resting on the alarm’s snooze button. Propping the tray on his knee as he knelt beside her bed, he gently prodded her awake.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Genji?” She asked, voice groggy. She flopped an arm at his face, clumsily attempting to cradle his cheek.

He laughed lightly. “Good morning, lovely.” He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Angela muttered something unintelligible and closed her eyes with a dreamy smile. He carefully set the tray on the floor and took the coffee in hand. “I have a present for you.” She didn’t open her eyes, though her smile hadn’t faded. He lifted the mug to her face, letting its aroma waft towards her enticingly. “It’s coffee.”

She blearily blinked her eyes open, nostrils flaring at the smell. “Cofefe?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “Nice and warm coffee.” Not that it mattered whether it was nice or even warm. Angela would eat coffee grinds if she thought no one was watching.

She hummed happily as she propped herself up on her headboard, reaching her hands out expectantly. Genji gently passed her the mug, making certain that she had a good grip on it before releasing. Waiting a few sips so the caffeine could do its magic, he only brought the tray into her view when the foggy look in her eyes finally faded.

“That is not all that I bring.”

Genji’s heart fluttered at the way her eyes lit up. 

“Spätzli! All this for me?” She took the tray from his hands, looking over it with wonder. “Did you cut all this fruit yourself? It must have taken you hours!”

“I enjoyed every minute of it.” Genji smiled dopily, high on a rush of endorphins. “Knowing it would put a smile on your beautiful face.” 

She blushed.

“Here,” she said, patting the empty space beside her on her bed. “Let’s eat! I can hardly wait to try all this delicious food.”

Genji hopped onto her bed, staying on top of the covers in case she asked him to get more coffee.

Angela handed him a fork and surveyed the colorful plate. “Now, what should we--”

An unbearably loud, screeching sound overrode her. Overrode every possible sound, blaring through the room with such intensity that he immediately slapped at his helmet, scrambling to mute his hearing. Beside him, Angela similarly jumped-- but with much more severe consequences. 

Genji could only watch in silent horror as the entire tray flew through the air, his hard work splattering itself everywhere-- the floor, the ceiling, the walls, the bed. The alarm still hadn’t stopped. Angela’s eyes were watering from the pain of the alarm and Genji already had his hands on the base speaker in the ceiling, fully prepared to rip it out from its socket, when the speaker stopped vibrating.

Cautiously, Genji unmuted his hearing.

“--ry, so sorry!” Winston’s voice was saying over the intercom. “All agents, please disregard the alarm. I, uh, think it was a short. Um, carry on. Sorry, sorry.”

Of all the possible…. Genji eyed the disaster scene with a heavy heart. Fruit flowers were thrown everywhere, limp and misshapen. Juice stained the bedsheets and one forlorn sausage hung from a floor lamp. Angela herself was curled on the edge of her bed, very much awake now, still clutching her coffee mug. The meal--their entire morning-- was completely unsalvageable now.

He sat heavily on the bed. “What great timing…” He said miserably.

Angela blinked, then scooted across the bed, wrapping an arm around him. “Don’t fret, Spätzli. I still appreciate what you did! I’m sure it would have been a wonderful breakfast.”

Genji grumbled and covered her hand with his. “Yes, but we’ll never know now.”

“Well, at least I still have the most important thing.”

He tilted his head, but understood when she took a sip from the mug. “Ah! Yes, you didn’t spill your coffee.” She snorted. “_You_, Spätzli. I still have you.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss.

Genji sighed against her lips, feeling some of the tightness in his chest loosen. “It is alright,” he said, ideas forming in his mind. “There should still be some fruit in the kitchen. Let me clean this up for you and then we’ll see if Reinhardt would be so generous as to part with more of his imported sausage.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said, tapping his nose while scrunching her own.

This was fine. Accidents happen! They’ll be laughing about this in mere hours from now. Sure, she didn’t get her breakfast in bed, but he still had the ingredients to make her breakfast! And he had a full day of activities planned for them. Really, it was better to get the bad luck out of the way now.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

This was _not_ fine. 

He kicked a loose chunk of concrete, sending it further down the sidewalk until it disappeared in the dark night. Genji was walking through the city of Gibraltar. Alone. No, let’s clarify that because _alone_ didn’t really encompass his situation. Anyone could be alone. Alone could be a great thing, a fantastic thing even, depending on the person. Hermits, rabid cats, Hanzo-- some things are better off alone. 

Not him.

Alone meant that not only was he without company, he was without _expectation _of company. He had nothing to look forward to, no prospect of comfort. Not at _this_ hour. Even if he went back to the Watchpoint, no one would be awake. Well, Jesse probably wouldn’t mind waking up if Genji asked, but… that wasn’t the point! This was supposed to be the night he reminded Angela why they were meant for each other! To relight the fires of their passion and... whatever other romantic phrases Reinhardt would say. Instead he’s shuffling his way through some dumb, dark backalley of a dumb island city. Alone. 

Okay, so maybe he was being a little melodramatic. It’s a city, after all. There’s bound to be people awake even this time of night. That and someone’s been tailing him for nearly an hour now. Enemies may not be welcome company, but they were company all the same. Was it Talon? Oh, he _hoped_ it was. Violence would be very soothing after a day like today.

Six blocks later, and Genji was tired of waiting. Without warning, he about-faced and marched directly towards his tail. Unfortunately, the tail clearly wasn’t Talon or even professional, as they actually _stumbled_ trying to get away from him. Great. This wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped. He caught them by the hood of their jacket. They struggled out of it, but Genij simply hooked a foot around their ankle and sent them sprawling to the ground. 

They squeaked when they fell. 

_Squeaked_. 

Genji put the over-under at 15 years old.

After an inordinate amount of scrambling, the kid finally found their footing and rounded on Genji, brandishing a knife in his direction. He reached out, grabbed the kid’s wrist, and twisted it in his grip. Predictably, they dropped the knife, right into Genji’s waiting hand.

“Your form needs work,” he said, flipping the knife casually.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit bot!” The kid spat, trying to pull their arm back, eyes wild.

“That’s an awful rude thing to say to someone,” Genji said before wrenching the kid’s arm violently clockwise, bending their entire arm behind their back. He ignored the pained shouting. “What if I had a terrible day? Wouldn’t you feel bad making it worse? Oh, and I have your knife.” He dangled it in front of the kid’s face, pulling it back when they made a swipe for it. “All in all, a very ill-considered decision.”

The kid growled wordlessly in frustration. “Just bring me to the pig pen, asshole.”

“First, I want to ask why you were following me.” 

Silence. 

Genji twisted the arm a little harder.

“Ah! Fuck. Bots aren’t welcome this side of town.”

Genji relaxed slightly, relieved it was just some omnic-phobe, rather than a Talon informant. Not that he was _pleased_ to find one in Gibraltar, but let’s face it, Talon posed much more of a threat. “You’ve been following me since the other side of the island,” he pointed out.

“Bots aren’t welcome on _any _side of this town.”

“And you were going to spook me into leaving? You are very optimistic. A rare quality these days.”

“I was just waiting until you were in a dark area!” The kid defended. “I don’t want cameras on me.”

Genji looked up at the broken streetlight above them. “Now seems like an excellent time. Here,” He released the kid and took a step back. “Come at me with everything you have.”

They stood in the darkened alley. The kid looked unsure, one foot facing towards Genji, the other away, swaying their weight between each foot. If it was encouragement the kid wanted… Genji lifted his arm and beckoned the kid with a twitch of his fingers.

It was enough. The kid charged at him like an enraged bull, head lowered, shouting, arms flailing wildly. Genji rolled his eyes and waited until the kid was only an arms length away before grabbing their shirt and redirecting their momentum and swinging them around-- right into the light pole, the collision producing a gong-like sound. 

He crouched next to the kid, who was groaning and rolling on the ground, hands covering their face. “That sounded like it hurt.”

“Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” The kid's voice cracked in pain.

Ah, yeah, the guilt’s really hitting him now. He rubbed a hand on his neck. “How’s ice cream sound by way of apology?”

The kid squinted up at him, face already swelling from the impact. “Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“I do not even know how they managed to lose our reservation!” Genji half-yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “They were able to get us in anyway, but I had a receipt and _everything_. To really crown the moment, the masseuse was flirting with Angela, too, not that she noticed--”

“So are you gonna order or what?” The kid-- Julio-- interrupted.

“Oh, right.” Genji looked over the menu again, trying to decide which frozen treat looked most delicious. One dish stood out to him. “Wow, the Rock of Gibraltar Sundae is _huge_.”

Julio sneered. “You’re ordering tourist shit?”

Genji perked up. “Why? Have you had it before? Is it not good?”

“No, I haven’t had it! I don’t go to tourist traps or eat tourist crap because I _live _here, dipshit.”

“So you do not know if it is good,” he concluded.

“It’s for tourists!” Julio’s raised voice drew glances from the waitstaff.

Genji analyzed the menu considerately, studying the photo of the Gibraltar Sundae. “Would you want to share with me? I do not think I could eat even half of this by myself.”

“Dude,” he said with disgust. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

“I’ll ask for two bowls.”

“Why? So you can stare at one and pretend you can taste-- ugh, you know what? Whatever. As long as you’re paying.”

Genji flagged down a waiter. It wasn’t particularly busy this late at night in the dessert cafe, but it still took a couple of attempts to get the guy’s attention.

“Is it rude to flag down waiters here?” Genji asked after they placed their order.

Julio gave him a strange look before shrugging deeper into his hoodie. “Man, it’s cause you’re an omnic in a place for people.”

“Omnics don’t visit restaurants with their friends here?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Omnics don’t visit restaurants with their friends here?” Genji repeated as though he hadn’t heard Julio.

Julio rolled his eyes. “No, they don’t. Bots don’t need to eat. It’s stupid that you’re here at all.”

“But surely there’s something to be said about companionship during a meal?”

“Fuck if I know. Only rich assholes make ‘friends’ with bots.”

“I see.” Genji let the conversation drop.

Julio spent a few minutes fidgeting before he spoke up again. “That spa probably lost your reservation on purpose when they saw who you were,” he muttered. “Like, what did you expect? You don’t need a masseuse, you need a mechanic. It’s stupid that you made them massage metal. Doesn’t help you and probably hurts them. Fucking dumb.”

“Many things are dumb to you, it seems.” 

The kid grumbled some more. 

Genji shrugged. “Anyway, Angela’s always been a bit oblivious to flirting-- we went on three dates before she realized I was not asking her as a friend and I was _not_ subtle-- so she thinks the lady is actually interested in medical anatomy. Look, _no one_ willingly listens to a verbal dissertation on connective muscular tissue unless they want to _connect with your muscular tissue_\-- wait how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Oh really? What year were you born?”

Julio hesitated, clearly doing math in his head.

“That is what I thought. In any case, I will not share the masseuse’s response when she realized Angela was with me. I think it’s partly the reason we got kicked out of and banned from the escape room afterwards, though….”

Another strange look from Julio. “You took your date to an escape room? That’s one of those puzzle rooms that old people like to waste their nights in, isn’t it?”

“There are many ways to waste our days and nights,” Genji said slyly. “Some people choose escape rooms. Some stalk strangers across an island.”

Julio flipped him off. 

“Anyway, after the escape room-- which Angela enjoyed other than the lifetime ban, for your information-- we went to dinner at this real fancy restaurant. I was _extremely_ lucky to get a reservation to that place. Angela was certainly impressed with the atmosphere. I had just been looking forward to her company. Well, the food, too, but mostly I just wanted to make her happy. Shame we only got through the first two courses.”

“_Courses_? Ugh, I hate rich people.”

“It is not a buffet. The courses are much smaller so you can enjoy many flavors without stretching your waistline.”

“You pay more to eat less? This is just making me hate rich people more.”

“It is no different than paying more for real ramen instead of eating the dehydrated stuff.” Genji pointed out.

Julio made a face. He had many faces. 

“Well. It didn’t matter in the end. The restaurant comped us the meal since we couldn’t finish.”

“Why would they do that?”

“We were eating the second course when a gentleman a table over started choking,” Genji explained. “Angela’s a doctor, so she rushed over to give aid. He was fine but then _another_ patron freaked out when they saw what was going on and ended up going into cardiac arrest. She helped them until the EMTs arrived and ended up accompanying them to the hospital.”

Julio snorted. “Never heard of getting dumped in favor for heart attacks. You must be a real winner for her to go to the hospital instead of finishing your date.”

Genji winced internally. Yeah, his thoughts were pretty much the same. “But if she hadn’t, I’d have never met you! I count this a blessing in disguise.”

Julio rolled his eyes.

That’s when the waiter returned with their order. The sundae was a veritable mountain of sweets-- a base of chocolate chip brownies, stacked high with three different flavors of ice cream, interspersed with gummy worms, cookie-and-cream crumbs coating the whole monstrosity from top to bottom. And of course, there was whipped cream and a bright-red cherry garnishing the peak.

Genji stared at it reverently, taking a few photos with his visor. “I have never seen anything so…”

“Disgusting?”

Genji shoved a spoon at Julio and removed his lower face plate to eagerly shove a bite in his mouth. “Oh, Iris, the brownies are still warm! Julio, you _have_ to try this.” He took another bite, savoring how the creamy custard melted in his mouth. When Julio didn’t move, he glanced at him to find the kid staring.

“You’re not omnic?”

Genji shrugged.

Julio’s face scrunched in rage. “Why didn’t you fucking say something?”

“Why would I?”

“Cause you’re not omnic, dipshit! Why do you even dress like that? I wasted _all night_ following you!”

“And it wouldn’t have been wasted if I were omnic?”

“Obviously!”

“It is not obvious to me.” Genji shoved another bite in his face.

“What, are you one of those ‘transcended’ assholes who thinks it’s better to be a bot instead of human? You get your dick upgraded and your heart cut out at the same time?” “Unfortunately my ‘upgrades’ were not optional,” Genji said drily. “Or voluntary.”

Julio shook his head, scooping his own bite of sundae. “There’s always a choice. Better off dead than a bot.”

“For a long time I shared your sentiment. My doctors did not have the chance to ask for my opinion before the operations, however.”

Julio sat back in his chair, confused and more than a little skeptical. “You used to think you’d be better off dead and now you’re cool with people thinking you’re an omnic?”

“I have found there is no more shame in being omnic than there is in being human.”

The skeptical look remained. “Sure they didn’t lobotomize you when they were taking everything else?”

“I have often asked the same,” a new voice said.

Genji nearly choked on his ice cream. “Angela!”

Behind him, Angela stood proudly, still dressed in evening finery, although her hair was escaping its updo by this point. _Shit_, he was in so much trouble. How did she even find-- ah, the sundae photos. Should probably turn the auto-post option off, or at least the geo-tag.

To his left, Julio was attempting to discreetly edge out of his seat.

“No need to depart on my account,” Angela said when she noticed, causing Julio to guiltily sit back down. She pulled up a spare chair, indifferent to the table’s awkward silence. “My, what a large sundae!”

“You should have seen it before we ate half of it,” Genji said, unable to bear the tension any longer.

“_This_ is half a sundae?” She asked, eyebrows flying up. “Oh, Genji tell me you didn’t eat all of it. You know how bad that is for you!”

“I didn’t! My, ah, friend, Julio has been helping me. Julio, Angela. Angela, Julio.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Angela said with her New Patient smile.

Julio eyed her warily. “Sure.”

“Ah, would you like a spoon?” Genji asked nervously.

“No, I--” Angela cut herself off for some reason. Genji turned to Julio, but he was staring off into space. “Well. Alright.” She took a bite, but didn’t seem to think much of it, eyes on Julio. “What happened to you, Julio? That is quite a nasty bruise on your face.”

“I, uh--”

“Ran into a pole.” Genji interjected. “Face-first. He didn’t even see it. Someone should really tell the city council that these broken street lights are a safety hazard.”

“That’s quite unfortunate,” Angela agreed. “One moment, I might have something in my purse that can help.” She rummaged around in her evening bag before pulling out some snap-heals. She placed a few of the bandages in Julio’s hand, who looked at them strangely. “Is something the matter?”

“Uh, I don’t know how helpful band-aids would be for a bruise.”

“Ah, these are not band-aids. Here you just snap them like this--” Angela bent one until it made a cracking sound and blue light emanated. “The you apply it as you would a band-aid.”

Julio did so and sighed with relief. “Damn, these feel nice!”

“Yes, they act as a coolant to reduce swelling. They only last for about fifteen minutes, but I gave you enough that you should be able to have them last for a few hours.”

“Thanks. So, what, are you like always on call or something?”

“No?” Angela said, looking confused.

Julio chewed on a bite of brownie. “I was just asking since you ditched circuit-brain over here and now you’ve got meds in your purse.” 

Genji froze, eyes wide, not daring to breathe.

“...You told him I ditched you?”

“No!” He protested immediately.

“Well, I mean,” Julio continued, looking _far_ too pleased. “You _did_ leave him to go to the hospital.”

“Yes and we were to meet back up at _home_, weren’t we, Genji?” Oh, shit, is that what she meant? Iris keep him. “Well, ah, I was on my way home, you see,” he floundered. “But then I saw Julio run into a pole--”

“A fine time to grow a conscious.” She said flatly.

“Because dinner is any better?” Julio asked, happily eating another mouthful of sundae.

“Excuse me?” 

Genji winced because nothing good ever happened when she used that tone. 

She leaned forward in her seat, bracing her forearms-- not elbows, anger was no excuse for poor manners-- on the table. “Those people could have died without medical intervention.”

Julio twirled his spoon in the air. “I’m pretty sure that the people who are paid to drive ambulances and shit had it under control when they showed up, but sure, lady, maybe they would’ve died if you didn’t hover over them all the way to the hospital.”

Seeing the look in Angela’s eyes, Genji quickly spoke. “I think it’s time for you to go, Julio.”

Julio shrugged, tossing his spoon into a nearby trash can as he stood. “Whatever, cyborg. Thanks for the ice cream.”

As Julio’s steps faded into the night, Genji found he couldn’t quite manage to look up from his sundae. How had it all ended up like this? He just wanted to treat Angela….

Angela broke the silence. “Why didn’t you come back to base?”

Genji lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Julio was tailing me. Tried losing him, but he’s a local. Long story short we ended up getting ice cream together. And…” He looked up at her, aggrieved to see that she looked more tired than anything. “I thought our date was over. I didn’t realize you meant _tonight_ when you said ‘I’ll see you back home’. I’m sorry.”

Angela hummed, lips tightening. “The fault is mine. I should have communicated better.” Mechanically, she took another bite of ice cream. She blinked. “Wow, this is actually really good.”

“You should have tried some when it was still warm,” he said a little sadly.

“Oh, yes, that would have been delightful! We should come here some time.” She glanced at him and set a hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently. “Help me finish this sundae?”

He accepted the peace offering for what it was, even though he already felt close to bursting. For all he knew, this might be their last meal as a couple. The idea certainly gave the sweet custard a bitter aftertaste, but they ate until their spoons scraped the bottom of the bowl. 

Dropping her spoon into the empty bowl, Angela sighed and stretched her arms above her head. “What a perfect way to end the perfect day!”

Genji whipped his head to her. “Perfect?” He asked, aghast.

“Of course!” She said, beaming, but then faltered when she saw his expression. “Didn’t you enjoy our date as well?”

He blinked rapidly. “I-- of course! Absolutely!”

“Then why did you sound so surprised?” 

And Genji was genuinely shocked at how vulnerable she seemed in that moment. So shocked that it took him almost a full minute to process her question. “Why wouldn't I be surprised? Everything that could have gone wrong today _did_.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wha-?” What did she mean what did he mean?! “The alarm ruined our breakfast this morning, the spa lost our reservations, we got a lifetime ban from an escape room, we didn’t get to finish dinner, and Julio tried to mug me!”

“He did what?!” She asked, alarmed and twisting about to see if Julio was still around.

“He wasn’t very good at it,” he admitted.

“Why were you sharing ice cream if he tried to mug you?”

“Ah, well, that was supposed to be an apology for his face.”

“_You_ did that to him?” Angela leaned on the table, rubbing her temples. “What am I going to do with you…”

Genji’s heart stopped. This was it. This was what ended their relationship. His breathing was becoming labored and he scrambled to latch his faceplate into place.

“Spätzli? What’s the matter?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Genji shrugged. 

Angela peered closely at him, but the mask didn’t fail him. “Have you… been alright? You’ve been acting strange lately.”

“I am… fine,” he managed.

“Which clearly means you are not,” she said, taking his hand. Even that small touch seemed overwhelming at the moment. “What is going on? You’ve seemed stressed lately, even during our dates today. Not even pole dancing made you smile.”

“...What?”

“At the, ah, escape room?”

Genji balked. “_That’s_ how the fireman pole broke?”

“You weren’t even watching?” She asked, her cheeks flushing.

“No, I was trying to solve the puzzle!” Now it was Genji’s turn to put his head in his hands. “I missed _pole dancing_?”

“And this is exactly what I mean!” She said, still red in the face. “It is unlike you to take things seriously for so long. So what’s gotten into you?”

“We got a _life ban_ from the escape room because you were _pole dancing_?” He whispered, torn between awe and frustration.

“Technically the ban was for destruction of property,” she muttered primly. “It was a fire station! How was I to know that it wasn’t rated to support a person?”

Awe. It was definitely awe he was feeling. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, are you ready to tell me what’s wrong?”

He paused. He looked at Angela. He swallowed.“Are you... _sure _you had a good time today?”

“Of course, spätzli,” She squeezed his hand again. “I always love spending time with you.”

He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before. The concern in her eyes. How long had she waited for him at the Watchpoint? She hadn’t changed and-- he glanced at her feet-- hadn’t even changed to more comfortable shoes. He could hardly believe it... waiting for your date, worried about where they are, only to learn they were eating ice cream as you imagined the worst. And she came for him anyway, not out of anger, but out of concern.

How could he ever think that Angela didn’t love him?

He smiled. “How can anything be wrong as long as I’m with you?”


	22. Resort

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, trying to ignore the excited chatter between McCree, Oxton, and Santos. They were all smiles and shouts, standing close together as they spoke to the customs agent in rapid syllables of Spanish, completely care free. 

It had been the same on the flight. No concern or forethought to the mission itself, only naïve pleasure to be out of the base. No appreciation for all the work _he_ accomplished to enable their departure. He wouldn’t be surprised if they foisted the customs paperwork onto him as well. The only time they seemed to remember his presence was when forms were involved. How had he been tricked into acting as the team's custodian?

And he _had_ been tricked. That much was clear. Doubtless. The only question was _why_.

It was suspicious, of course, that McCree had been conspicuously absent from the planning process, only involved enough to give a competent brief for the rest of Overwatch. A brief the insufferable man had brought popcorn to. 

Yes. Popcorn. 

Hanzo hadn’t the sense to complain at the time. Why would he? Working alone was far preferable to working with a lax partner-- which McCree must have been. Why else would he leave mission details to a man he disliked? Bringing McCree’s attention to planning would simply result in Hanzo not only doing all the work, but cleaning up his teammates’ messes as well.

The smooth, electronic tone of the Babrick cut across Hanzo’s thoughts, bringing his attention back to the team. Oxton was using the Babrick to discuss the custom agent’s… favorite foods? And it seemed McCree and Santos were contributing their own preferred dishes.

Hanzo scowled. Useless.

There had been many pointless frivolities like this, mostly involving McCree, who was _supposed _to be the veteran of the group. It was one thing for the younger agents to be inattentive, but he had foolishly expected more of McCree. He could think of nothing that explained McCree’s disinterest in planning, his blasé attitude, the excessive mariachi songs, all the research on local restaurants instead of local gangs and-- oh. Of course. 

Hanzo actually groaned as the truth finally fell into place, lightly bumping his fist against his forehead. It was so obvious. How did he not see it sooner? McCree had no issue allowing Hanzo to plan the mission, because McCree did not consider this a mission. To him, this was a _holiday_.

“Y’all got the Lark covered?” McCree asked, hands on his hips and looking around the private airport with a giddy grin. 

Hanzo said nothing, too aggrieved to acknowledge him, but Oxton and Santos responded in the affirmative. 

He hadn’t realized he was grimacing until Santos asked him “Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine,” Hanzo said tightly. More than capable of filling out more paperwork, at any rate.

“Alright then,” McCree said cheerily, oblivious to Hanzo’s _immense_ suffering. “I’m gonna go ahead and scout out the hotel and get us checked in.”

“That will not be necessary,” Hanzo disagreed, scrolling through his email to verify the check-in confirmation. “I have already checked us in by phone.”

McCree shrugged carelessly. “Well, there’s nothin’ quite like havin’ a body do the rounds and I’m more than happy to do the honors.” “Is it wise to travel alone in an area with suspected hostiles?” Hanzo asked mechanically. He didn’t expect an answer; It was a reflexive question. His role in Overwatch was clearly to be sensible and ignored, so the man who embodied insensibility and self-indulgence would never--

“Good point!”

Hanzo forgot to breathe for a moment. McCree... listened to him? Was he hallucinating?

It would have to be a very extended hallucination. McCree was still speaking. “That is _no problemo_. Lúcio, wanna come with?”

Oxton glanced up from her pile of customs paperwork. “If you take Lúcio, who’s gonna talk to customs for me?”

McCree heeding his advice _and_ Oxton considering practicalities? Truly, a night of wonders.

“We can leave the Babrick.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” she said, “I’d feel a lot more comfortable if I had a fluent speaker with me.”

McCree chewed on his unlit cigarillo, apparently displeased. One could only hope McCree’s disappointment was a fraction of Hanzo’s own. So much effort, _wasted _on a vacation... 

McCree took a deep breath, as if he were bracing himself for a blow, and looked up. “Okay. Hanzo. Would you like to scout out the hotel with me?”

Flinching was beneath Hanzo, so he blinked instead. “No. Thank you.” 

McCree scowled and scuffed his boot on the ground.

“Surely,” Hanzo said, curling his lip at the childish display. “It is not so difficult to wait until our business at the airport is concluded?”

“C’mon, Hanzo,” Santos piped up, elbowing him lightly in the side. “He just wants to stretch his legs after the flight. You should go! I bet Jesse knows all the good eats around here. Lena and I can handle everything at customs. Right, Lena?”

Oxton beamed.

This could only end poorly. Oxton completing paperwork? Laughable. “This is completely unnecessary--” Hanzo tried.

“Go on, Hanzo!” Oxton cheered him, shooing him with her stack of forms. “Go have a bit of fun while we take care of the boring stuff. It’s only fair, since you planned the mission.”

Hanzo paused, staring at her. "Only fair?”

“What?” She laughed. “You thought we didn’t notice you working hard getting this trip all sorted for us?” Oxton blushed, looking distinctly embarrassed. “I was keeping myself occupied with the Lark, but I could’ve helped out more back at base. So, er, take this as my apology, I guess? And thanks!”

A strange sensation settled in his chest, high between his lungs, a tightness that twisted, curled, unfurled into warmth. It felt almost like… gratitude. He could feel his face twitching.

“I’m sure Jesse’d really appreciate it, too,” Santos said. “Right, Jesse?”

For some reason, McCree looked very sheepish. “Yeah, ‘course. I’d be,” he cleared his throat, “happy to have Hanzo along.”

This was... surreal. Hanzo scanned the group. If this was a joke at his expense, surely one of them would have started laughing by now? But no one did. Oxton and Santos both stared at him with open, expectant expressions. Even McCree looked somewhat hopeful.

“If--” Hanzo cleared his throat, schooling his expression to neutrality. “If you insist.”

Oxton and Santos cheered and Hanzo… Hanzo smiled.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse was relieved to learn that not even Hanzo could sustain a surly attitude once they made it out of the airport. He didn't give a shit how oppressive Hanzo thought his company was, _no one_ could be grumpy when Dorado was glowing with life.

“Mm, do you _smell_ those empanadas on the wind?” Jesse tipped his hat back with a grin as they walked, breathing deeply. “Can’t tell you the last time I felt a proper ocean breeze.”

Hanzo grunted. Which sounded grumpy, sure, but the line between his eyebrows wasn’t there, so Jesse knew he wasn’t _that_ irritated. “We live on the Mediterranean.”

Jesse laughed. “That’s a sea, not an ocean. It ain’t the same.”

“It certainly feels the same,” Hanzo grumbled, pulling at his shirt to unstick it from his skin. 

Jesse gave Hanzo a once over. “Maybe you wouldn’t be all hot and bothered if you wore something other than long sleeved shirts.” Man was gonna give himself heat stroke dressed like that.

“And dress like Reinhardt?” Hanzo scoffed. “I would rather retain my dignity, thank you.”

Without warning, an image of Hanzo wearing nothing but a speedo jumped into his mind. Which, you know, of course it did, because who didn’t have to suffer through intrusive thoughts once and a while? It was a totally normal thing, right? Even if it’s of a guy you hate. Especially, even! 

...But Jesus Christ, why’d he imagine him with a six pack? Not that you could work out like Hanzo and be flabby, but you could grate cheese on those imaginary abs and lick-- oh, _fuck _no. Shutting down that train of thought _forever_. Fuckin’ _gross_.

He coughed awkwardly. “Well, that’s just takin’ it to extremes. You don’t have to jump right to crop tops and booty shorts--” especially if Jesse wanted to preserve his _own _dignity, apparently “--a short sleeve shirt would help you keep cool just fine.”

Hanzo ducked his chin. “I like the way I dress.”

Jesse eyed the dampening clothes doubtfully, deliberately not noticing the way the loose clothing clung to muscle. How long had he gone without being laid to resort to this? “More power to ya, then. Just thought you were more of a function over form type of person.”

“Long sleeves have function.” Hanzo pulled at the hem of his sleeve and Jesse forced himself to consider what the action meant instead of letting his imagination run off in directions he didn't like. Possibly a self-conscious motion? Nervous tic? “They protect me from sun damage and hide my tattoo.”

“Hide it?” Jesse asked incredulously. “You got your entire arm worked over. Why would you wanna hide art like that?”

“People tend to ask questions.”

Well, god forbid Hanzo experience some sort of human interaction. “Like where you got it?”

“...Among other things.”

Jesse squinted at him. Did it have something to do with Japanese tattoo culture? Americans wanted to show off all their pieces, all the time. Maybe it was a more private affair across the ocean, a sentiment left over from the days when only criminals had tattoos.

“You’re real shy for a guy who ran a yakuza clan.”

Hanzo gave him an affronted look. “I am _private_, not shy.”

“Same difference,” Jesse said, already getting ready for the next taunt when he caught a familiar scent that derailed his entire thought process. “Oh, god damn, are those fresh tamales?” He sniffed again. _Definitely_ tamales. “I’m buying some. Want any?”

Hanzo wrinkled his nose. “No, thank you.” 

Well. His loss.

Jesse followed the scent through the city, finally finding the food stand two streets over. Hanzo hung back while he waited in line, mouth already watering at the prospect of homemade tamales. He was all grins when he finally made it to the front-- until he saw the empty warming cabinet.

⟪Don’t worry!⟫ The man working the stand said with a friendly smile. He looked to be roughly Jesse’s age, maybe a bit younger. A little on the heavier side, but well-kept and attractive in a I’ll-warm-your-bed-_and_-your-heart kind of way. ⟪My niece is on her way with a fresh batch.⟫ 

⟪Oh, good,⟫ Jesse said. ⟪Can’t tell you how sad I’d be if there weren’t none left.⟫

⟪Not as sad as I’d be to lose such a handsome customer.⟫

⟪Oh-- uh, thanks.⟫ Jesse blushed and rubbed the back of his head. ⟪You, uh, you work here often?⟫ Oh for… Jesse, really? ‘Work here often’? Damn it, finally a chance to get some action and he’s stumbling.

But the man smiled anyway, his brown eyes practically glowing in the evening light. ⟪Oh, no, only for major holidays. I have a restaurant downtown that I usually work out of. My sister and niece are taking care of it while I’m out here.⟫

⟪Major holidays? The Festival of Light, right?⟫

⟪Yes! That’s right,⟫ tamale-guy said encouragingly. ⟪No holiday’s bigger for us in Dorado, though Day of the Dead comes close.⟫

⟪I didn’t know that,⟫ Jesse said. Then he stalled, grasping for how to continue the conversation. ⟪So, uh, boss workin’ the stand? That’s kind of ya.⟫ 

⟪Oh, no, I definitely get the better end of the deal. See more good-looking strangers this way.⟫ He winked and Jesse swore he felt ten feet tall that moment. 

⟪I’ve always heard that Dorado has lovely views,⟫ Jesse said, looking down so that his hat covered everything but his lopsided smile, a move that _always_ worked. ⟪But they never mentioned that it extended to the locals.⟫

Tamale-guy leaned on his table in a way that showed off his lean, toned forearms. He was grinning and wow, this was going _surprisingly_ well--

⟪Uncle!⟫ A young voice called. Both Jesse and the tamale-guy looked up the street to see a girl racing towards them, a huge tub of tamales in her arms. ⟪New batch!⟫

⟪Thank you, Maria,⟫ Tamale-guy shot him an embarrassed smile. Jesse understood. It felt weird to flirt in front of relations. ⟪I’ll have your order right up, sir.⟫

⟪Oh, no rush at all.⟫

A few deft motions, and tamale-guy managed to transfer all the tamales into the warming cabinet and also fill a paper bag with Jesse’s order. Their hands brushed as he passed it over.

⟪Sorry for the wait!⟫ Another dazzling smile that sent Jesse's heart racing. ⟪I hope you come back soon.⟫

⟪Well, if these tamales are half as tasty as their seller suggests, I’m sure I’ll have to be a repeat customer. Have a good evenin’!⟫ 

Jesse put a few extra notes in the tip jar before he walked away. Sure, the money was probably the true goal for tamale-guy’s flirting, but it had been so long since Jesse had felt attractive he couldn’t help but feel grateful anyway. And, hey, maybe he’d find the time to visit tamale-guy again and they could... get to know each other.

Hanzo was eyeing him suspiciously when he returned.

“An awful lot of smiles for a simple transaction.”

“Yeah, called friendliness.” Jesse pulled out a piping hot tamale and unwrapped it from the corn husk. “You should give it a try sometime.”

Hanzo hummed. “Tell me, is the premise of this mission genuine?”

Jesse stared at him, not sure how to answer the question. Or why it was even a question. “I mean, yeah?”

“It is clear to me that you consider this venture to be for pleasure rather than business.”

Ah, shit, he’d been caught. He swallowed his bite of tamale. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t catch on sooner.”

“I did not _confront_ you sooner.”

“‘Course you didn't,” Jesse grumbled. “Look, Han, don’t worry that I won’t do my part on the mission. I always pay my dues.”

“Is having someone else complete all the mission preparation part of those dues?”

“I thought you liked that type of work!”

Hanzo glared. “You were assigned team lead. Thus far, you have not performed as such."

"That’s a fuckin’ sidestep-- don’t think I didn’t notice. And it ain’t like we got a book detailing what all is expected of a team lead," Jesse said with irritation, unwrapping another tamale. "Delegation is a part of leadership. I delegated planning to you. I was available at any moment you decided that you needed input-- and did you approach me?"

"...No."

"And is that because you assumed I was bein’ a lazy shithead or because you preferred to work alone?"

"Both." 

Jesse glared back, taking an angry bite of tamale. 

"Mostly the latter," Hanzo admitted.

Mhm. That’s what he thought. "So, really, if I'm not up to speed on this mission, it'd be _your _fault for creatin' those conditions instead of bein' a team player."

"The first task that occurred to you when we landed was to tour the city!"

Jesse spread his arms wide, still holding on to his tamales. "The hell else am I gonna do? Los Muertos ain’t hidin' in our hotel room. We're gonna have to get to know the city if we wanna find them."

Hanzo grumbled.

Jesse shoved another tamale in his mouth. "Look, if it makes you feel more self-righteous, this _is_ a vacation for me. But I ain't the most well-adjusted of folk. Stalkin' through a strange city tryin' to uncover an international conspiracy with an almost certain chance of extreme violence-- well, it's definitely _my_ idea of a good time." And maybe a night with tamale-guy, but Hanzo don’t need to know that.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the block that he noticed Hanzo wasn’t with him. He turned, annoyed to find he had stopped nearly fifty paces back. Jesse walked back with a scowl.

“What’s your problem?” He asked.

“This is our hotel.”

“And you let me walk off after you pitched a fit about me bein’ on my own because…?”

“I did not wish to interrupt your ‘good time’.”

What a bitch.

Jesse looked to their left to see what cheap dump Hanzo had put them in only to raise his eyebrows when he saw the decidedly luxurious hotel. It had a valet, even! Those weren’t so common these days. Only rich folk could afford the extra tax on vehicles without self-driving capabilities.

“So. We ain’t really aimin’ to blend in, huh?”

Hanzo shrugged. “This hotel has the best line of sight to the LumériCo building, has multiple entrances, and is centrally located. The expense was justified.”

“Uh-huh. We’re not all gonna be cramped in one room are we?”

“Of course not. There are two rooms. This was in the briefing.”

“Right, right. One room for sleepin’, one room for watchin’.” Jesse perked up. “Does it have a pool?”

“No.”

“Aw…” Hanzo _tsk_ed. “There are beaches not even five blocks away. Not that it matters, as we are here on _business_.”

“What, so you didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Wait-- fuck, he’s thinking about the speedo again.

“Of course not! Do you intend to wait outside?”

It was only then that Jesse realized Hanzo had left his side _again_ and was almost at the hotel door. “I’m comin’, hold your horses, god damn.” He caught up as the glass doors slid open soundlessly, revealing an elegant, modern interior that complimented rather than contrasted with the building’s traditional missionary-style facade.

Hanzo strode to the reception desk and addressed the omnic at the counter. “Good evening. I checked in by phone earlier today. I have two rooms under Watanabe.”

Jesse tuned out as the omnic began a long-winded welcome and introduction to Dorado. There wasn’t anything interesting in the lobby. Guess they were too fancy for a brochure rack. Though clearly expensive, the decorative art was bland and inoffensive. Sorta like the other patrons, now that he looked at ‘em. Was that woman drinking champagne in the lobby? Ugh, what he wouldn’t give to be in a dive right now.

_Actually_… Jesse glanced at Hanzo, who was still talking to the receptionist. Listening in on their conversation, he could tell Hanzo was strangely interested in local history and that, much more importantly, their chat wouldn’t be finished any time soon. 

Nonchalantly as possible, Jesse turned and walked to the double doors, tossing his empty bag of tamales along the way. If Hanzo noticed him, he’d just say he was getting a smoke. Yup, just a casual light. Be right back. Out to get cigarettes.

But Hanzo didn’t take notice. Jesse was at the doors, then out. Then around the corner and, finally, home free-- alone in Dorado, without an overbearing nanny looming over him! The first real taste of freedom and independence since he answered the Recall and he felt practically buoyant. There was an extra bounce in every step as he explored the well-lit streets of Dorado. Despite what he told Hanzo, he really _did_ read over the dossier. Especially the maps. He was always vigilant about memorizing the local area after a near-disastrous mission in Canberra. If he had his bearings right, the LumériCo building would be just around the corner-- and yup.

Now on the north side of their hotel facing east, Jesse could see the LumériCo energy plant at the end of the main road that went through downtown. It was awful pretty. He’d've thought a power plant would focus on cheap and efficient construction like they did back home-- as in, squat and ugly-- but that wasn’t the way LumériCo did business.

The LumériCo plant was a radiant ziggurat, a stepped pyramid of shining glass and smooth blue brick. The entirety was lit up, glowing with warm yellow light that contrasted pleasantly with the green hills behind it, also dotted with luminescent ziggurats. It was almost ethereal, beautiful in a way that existed only in legends and myths. 

The buildings surrounding it were more grounded, but looking closely, he could see wildly vibrant art on almost every inch of space. Wooden and stone _alebrijes _guarded seemingly every door and window, the fantastic creatures protecting homes from bad spirits while wrought iron street lights made sure no shadows lingered on those painted dreams.

Nearly every town he’d been to in Mexico was like this-- not nearly as high class or sophisticated, of course. But the art, the colors, the omnipresent _light_. It was a damn shame that it took the Omnic Crisis to spark a cultural revival. Half the time the art was there to cover the scars of war. He crossed the street, running a hand on a wall, not finding any satisfaction when he was proven right, thumbing the pockmarks of bullet holes.

The Omnic Crisis was bad everywhere, and Mexico was no exception. No one had quite the same experience, though. Most nations had to contend with one or two Omniums in their country and even then the rampant destruction was always worse closer to the factories. The US had three, which was considered excessive at the time even though one was only used for research and prototypes, and resulted in the death of thousands, if not millions. 

Mexico had four.

So, of course it was bad. Their military forces were quickly depleted and neighboring nations had their hands full within their own borders. Overwatch was in its infancy at the time, still forming. But people were still dying in droves. So the Mexican government got desperate. And then it did what desperate nations do. It got destructive.

EMP weapons-- electro-magentic pulse devices-- weren’t unheard of during the Crisis. It was the surest way to fry a bot, but they were expensive and difficult to mass produce. On top of it, they could only temporarily knock the bots offline if they weren't powerful enough. The problem with that was, a strong EMP weapon would affect an entire area, not just a single target. It could potentially mean wiping out your own power grid and crippling your own infrastructure. In the end, it was simply safer and more effective to use traditional weaponry against the bots. The thing was... Mexico didn’t have the manpower to wield that traditional weaponry. Bots were gaining more ground every day and infrastructure was no good to dead citizens, so they did what no other nation could consider. They EMP’d their own country.

It fried the entire nation. The omnics died, but so did thousands of civilians. It wasn’t just a matter of busted electronics-- there was absolutely _no_ electricity. No heat at night, no way to pump water, no light. Hospitals couldn’t keep their patients alive, sanitation and emergency services collapsed, no one could contact anyone else-- not their government, their friends, or their families. They thought the EMP would end the Crisis, but it only changed what the crisis was. Instead of surviving a war, they had to survive an apocalypse. It became Mexico’s darkest hour. _La Medianoche_. 

Jesse grew up somewhat close to the Mexican border, early in his Deadlock days. Being an extreme anti-omnic faction, Deadlock wouldn’t touch anything to do with electricity except to break it. Even with the Crisis going on, that wasn’t attractive to too many folks. But for those who survived the horrors of La Medianoche? It made perfect sense. Mexicans surged over the border into Deadlock in droves, swearing they’d never be reliant on electricity again. They were called Las Portadoras de Velas. Candle Bearers. They always had a light, be it a candle or match or lighter. 

Once, during a real bad spring storm, a sudden drop of pressure snuffed the light out of every single candle in their refuge, leaving only an inky, unfathomable blackness. Jesse’d been an outlaw, a soldier, and a mercenary for a long time. He’s heard a lot of people scream. Screams of fear, of victory, of death. But he’s _never_ heard screams like the Candle Bearers in the darkness. Not before or since. Not outside dreams. Jesse shuddered at the memory.

Well, that was enough creepy shit for the night. Jesse stepped back from the mural. Hanzo had already included an entire chapter about Mexico’s history in the dossier, so it wasn’t like Jesse was getting anything of value reminiscing on history. Shit, Hanzo was probably working himself into a state by now. He should get back to the hotel.

He turned to leave, but paused mid-step, looking down the street away from the hotel.

Did that group of people look shady, or was it just the neon skeleton paint they had painted on? Rhetorical question, as those were _definitely _Los Muertos markings. Here he was waxing poetic about Mexican fascination with light when there was a gang so hell-bent on self-sufficiency that they would outline their bones with glowing paint and tattoos so that they’d never be without light. 

He watched as an omnic walked past the group hurriedly, head bent low, keeping their eyes on the ground.. The group condensed around itself, apparently commiserating, before spreading back out. And then they started to follow the omnic.

Well shit. That wasn’t good.

Making up his mind, Jesse walked up the street, beelining for the gang, but doing his damndest to be slow and casual about it. They saw him coming, of course, as he wasn’t aiming for stealth, and he grinned wide and friendly-like when he pretended to notice them for the first time. Some of them rolled their eyes, some grimaced, and a few spat.

The omnic scurried past him, whispering a low _gracias_ without breaking stride.

Jesse ignored the thanks, keeping his eyes forward. “Evenin’, folks!” He said, playing up his American accent. “I sure love them outfits you got. Is it for the festival? The, uh, Lightning Festival?” Okay, maybe he was laying it on a bit thick butchering _Festival de Luz_ so obviously, but his heart was already pounding in anticipation of a fight.

One of them, a shorter woman, grumbled something that sounded unflattering. “Sure,” she said in a thick accent. “For the festival. You know, this isn’t the safest place to be at night, yeah?” The others nodded, eyes darting about as if the warning applied to them as much as tourists, and for the first time Jesse noticed how anxious they seemed. 

Two were scanning their surroundings almost compulsively, carefully arranged at opposite ends of the gaggle, which meant they had planned for that degree of watchfulness. That didn’t seem right. Both Winston and Hanzo’s research said that Los Muertos ran Dorado. What did they have to be afraid of? Were there factions in Los Muertos? In-fighting?

...Why were they staring at him? Right, just told him he was in a dangerous part of town.

Jesse faked surprise. “Really? Well, dang, thanks for lettin’ me know! I thought I’d be okay so close to my hotel. And the city’s just lit up so pretty.”

A young guy gently nudged the woman. ⟪Chill, he’s just a tourist. You think the Soldier is bad now? It’ll be worse if we take a hit on tourists.⟫ He looked at Jesse. “Yeah, we take pride in bringing light to the world. You know, if you went to the market district, you’d be able to see a light parade.”

Jesse perked up, feigning interest. “No shootin’?”

“Yup, here, give me your phone and I’ll show you.”

Jesse surrendered his phone and listened with half an ear as he kept an eye on the rest of the group. Alright. Los Muertos. Suspected of running arms with Talon. Connected with ‘the Soldier’. Soldado: 76? Or a Los Muertos member? Or both. Could be both.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir, thank you so much for your help.” He tipped his hat at the group, to their collective amusement.

He turned his back first, still playing the role of clueless tourist, even if it itched to have a threat behind him. His nerves slowly calmed when he heard their retreating footsteps and he could breathe easy. It was risky directly confronting them like that, especially without equipment or backup. He was _damn_ lucky that they were just as keen on playing it safe. He even got some dirt on them! That might appease Hanzo some, who was probably shitting bricks waiting for him at the ho--

“Nice of you to join us.”

Jesse came to a sudden halt as he turned the corner, just barely avoiding a collision with the devil himself. “Haaaaaaaanzo!” His eyes flicked around their surroundings, but there was no quick exit. “How’s it goin’? I was just--”

“I know what you were ‘just’ doing.” Hanzo folded his arms. “What is the point of me accompanying you on the walk _you _demanded if you seek out Los Muertos the moment I turn my back?”

“What? Nah, I wasn’t--”

“I was _watching_, McCree.”

Ah, hell. “Never took you for a voyeur,” he grumbled.

“I did not spend days preparing for this mission for you to jeopardize it on a whim.”

“Fine, quit your bitchin’. So I went off on my own, so what? I been on my own for over a decade now and besides-- I got intel to show for it.”

Hanzo eyed him skeptically. “I doubt that you have anything to add that my research has not already covered.”

“Yeah? Well _your_ research said that Los Muertos are the top of the food chain.”

Hanzo unfolded his arms, apparently taking the bait. “They unofficially direct the government and law enforcement, if that’s what you mean.”

“That is what I mean, yeah.” Jesse nodded dismissively, eager to play his hand. “But if they’re so in control, what’re they so afraid of the Soldier for?”

“Who?”

Jesse replayed the statement in his head, wincing as he realized how nonspecific his ‘scoop’ was. “...Soldier.”

“...Is that all you have?” The irritated tone was back. “You directly confronted Los Muertos and the ‘information’ you gained is nothing more than a ghost story.”

“Hey, now, Soldier: 76 ain’t a ghost story!”

“You are right. Soldier: 76 is not a ghost story. But you said they were afraid of _Soldier_, didn’t you? Are we to blindly assume that it refers to the same person?”

Jesse grunted, reseating his hat. “Alright, fine, so I didn’t nab any earth-shaking revelations. But they _were_ scared of Soldier, whoever that is. It might be 76, it might not. It might be one of the gang leaders--”

“Or it could be both.”

“Or both!”

“It is not… _entirely_ useless,” Hanzo said. “It was still an unnecessary risk.”

Jesse snorted. “Like you aren’t peachy keen to see me get shot.”

“If you are to be shot,” Hanzo sniffed, “I’d prefer to have the honor myself.”

Despite himself, Jesse laughed.


	23. Returned

⟪That looks extremely difficult.⟫

Genji immediately toppled over from his complex yoga position, sprawling on the gym floor. ⟪Master! You startled me.⟫

Master’s electronic chuckles were too cheerful for the scare to be anything less than intentional.

⟪It is cheating when you can just float,⟫ Genji groused. ⟪I can’t even listen for footsteps.⟫

⟪My apologies, Genji.⟫ Master inclined his head and Genji grudgingly accepted the apology.

He moved into his cool down stretches, sensing his flexibility routine for the day was finished, wincing as he felt his spine pop into alignment with his synthetics. ⟪Is there something you needed, Master?⟫ It wasn’t typical for Master to seek him out when it wasn’t time for one of their sessions. 

⟪Yes. Winston has informed me that Mister Lindholm is recently returned and has asked that I greet him.⟫

⟪Now?⟫ Genji glanced at the gym’s analogue clock. It wasn’t even 0700.

⟪As I understand it, Mister Lindholm has only just arrived from the airport. It is unlikely he has unpacked or retired to his quarters. I expect we can find him in the garden.⟫

⟪We have a garden?⟫

Master hummed cheerfully, leading Genji out of the gym. ⟪Perhaps not ‘we’, but there _is _a garden on the Watchpoint.⟫

Genji tilted his head. Were… were they heading to the Forge? It made sense, in a way. The Forge was where Brigitte loved to do her building, engineering, and tinkering-- hence the name. She and Reinhardt spent the majority of their time in it and Torbjörn would doubtlessly pay a visit to his daughter and lifelong friend before doing anything else. Still, if Master expected Torbjörn to be in ‘the garden', this did not seem to be the right direction. There was little sunlight to be had underground, after all.

Regardless, they descended the stairs to the Forge. The ringing sounds of hammer-on-metal were evident even before they opened the heavy-duty door guarding the workspace, and Genji manually reduced the sensitivity of his hearing before it could reach painful levels.

Brigitte was perched on a draughtsman’s chair just left of center in the room, surrounded by bright work lights. She didn’t notice them enter; She wore sound-cancelling headphones and had a welding mask on. Shoved off in his own corner, Reinhardt stood in the middle of a weight rack, muscles bulging as he lifted a frankly disturbing amount of weight, the bar itself bending with the strain. Reinhardt _did _notice them, as he was not wearing hearing protection like one might expect. Or hope. At the sight of them, he let the weights drop to the ground-- causing the floor to actually _shake_ with the impact-- and opened his arms wide. “Genji! Zenyatta! _Willkommen_!”

Genji was only somewhat surprised that he could hear him shout even without restoring his hearing.

The din of hammers stopped abruptly and Brigitte flipped up her mask, looking annoyed. “Rein! What did I tell you about dropping your weights like that? What if I was working on something delicate?”

Reinhardt shrugged his massive shoulders. “If the armor fails after so small an error, what use would it be in combat?”

“That’s not-- ugh, you’re hopeless.” She turned to Genji and Master, briefly looking them up and down. “What’s up?”

“Winston requested that we check in on your father,” Master said.

“Oh!” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Um, alright. Papa’s in the garden through there.” She pointed her hammer at a door that Genji never noticed before, probably because it was directly behind Reinhardt's workout corner.

"Thank you, Miss Lindholm.”

“No problem,” she said, flipping her mask back down. “He’s in a pretty good mood. Surprisingly.”

Reinhardt opened the door for them, squeezing himself to the side so they could pass into the open-air space. Genji had to wait a moment for his visor to adjust to the bright morning light after the dim Forge. Once it did, he could see the area was about the same size as the room they just left, only it had no ceiling or walls beyond the natural rock arching above them. To their right, the ground dropped away suddenly with only a thin rail guarding the cliff, but ahead of them was a luscious array of greenery.

Genji wasn’t very familiar with plants, but he could see that there was a large variety. Some plants were growing directly from the ground, but the majority sprouted from garden boxes in beds of fertile dirt. There were plants growing on trellises, on the cliff wall, even upside down. It was practically a forest and Genji had a hard time seeing through all the foliage.

“Is that Brigitte or Reinhardt?” A gruff voice called out, followed shortly by Torbjörn’s appearance. He paused when he saw them, slowly taking off his gardening gloves. “Er, hello! I wasn’t, aheh, expecting guests.”

Genji narrowed his eyes. It was _very _unlike Torbjörn to be sheepish.

“I hope you’ll forgive our intrusion,” Master said. “Winston said you might require assistance.”

“He did? Er, can’t say I know what he means.”

“Our mistake, then.” Master looked around, apparently completely unconcerned that Winston sent them on a goose chase. “This is quite the remarkable garden. Did you cultivate all these plants yourself?”

“No, Brigitte helps me sometimes and-- er--” Torbjörn’s eyes slid to the side. Genji tried to follow his line of sight. Did he see something move? Yes, those leaves-- or was it the wind?

“Reinhardt?” Zenyatta suggested pleasantly.

Brigitte _had_ said something about wishing she had her cat here. Was it possible Torbjörn brought her furry companion back? He grinned to himself. It would be a sweet gesture from a father to his daughter. More importantly, _he_ loved cats!

“Yes! Reinhardt. Very, er, enthusiastic, even if he hinders as much as he helps.” Torbjörn grumbled.

He just had to keep an eye out for plants moving against the wind… There! Genji dove forward, sliding around an elevated box to come face to face with--

“_Dweet! Dweet!_” The omnic beeped in panic. 

“NO!” Torbjörn shouted from a distance.

Genji felt a flash of recognition and horror-- that was a Crisis-era E54 _Bastion_ unit!-- before the clank and whirr of mechanics shifted the siege weapon from sentry to turret mode. The last thing he saw was the angry red of a war machine in kill-mode, its turret gun spinning as it warmed up to fire--

The blast of water knocked him off his feet, right into a stack of clay pots. Genji spluttered as he sat up, removing his face plate to better spit out the water that had forced its way through his ventilation.

“Genji!” Master held out a hand and Genji used it to pull himself back to his feet. “Are you alright?”

He coughed, trying to dislodge the water in his lungs, still in shock. “What-- what is an E54 unit doing here?!”

Torbjörn turned from soothing the omnic, looking extremely guilty. “Eh, funny story.”

“There is nothing funny about it!” Genji shouted. “They were all supposed to be decommissioned after the Crisis!”

The E54 unit whirred in distress. Torbjörn put himself between the war machine and Genji, glaring challengingly.

“Well, clearly they missed one,” the old engineer said defensively.

“Why don’t _you _tell us your thoughts, friend?” Master interrupted firmly. 

At first, Genji wasn’t sure who he was talking to, until the E54 unit responded in a long series of beeps and whistles. What followed was a marvelously complex form of communication mostly unintelligible to him. Generally, only omnics were capable of emitting and perceiving the wide array of signals that composed their native bit-language. He’d tried learning while in Nepal, but could only manage the most basic of words. That left him and Torbjörn awkwardly waiting as Master carried on his one-sided conversation.

“You don’t say?” 

_Beep doot brrt_. 

“Truly, a remarkable feat.” 

_Happy whistles_.

“Really? It must have been quite the game of charades.” 

_Contemplative doots_. 

“Yes, I agree. You are extremely lucky to have found such a considerate friend.”

“Er, Master?”

Genji watched in shock as Master bowed to Torbjörn. “Mister Lindholm, I must commend you.”

Torbjörn squinted. “What?”

Master gestured to the omnic. “You have taken excellent care of Bastion since you’ve found him, he is very grateful.”

“It-- er, he is?”

“Of course! He wishes to specifically thank you for retrofitting a water hose where his machine gun used to be.”

“Oh.” Torbjörn patted down his beard. “Er, well, you’re welcome. Bastion.”

_Dee dee dee_! “I take it that he’s happy?”

“Oh, yes,” Master agreed. “Very. Also, he would like to apologize to you, Genji, for getting you wet.”

“I suppose…” Genji glanced at Bastion, who watched him plaintively. He sighed. “He is forgiven.”

_Woot!_

“But I still want to know when he got here!” Genji insisted.

“I found,” Torbjörn paused. “_Him_ in the woods of Sweden. The wife and I were taking a walk close to the beach and we saw a hunk of metal in the woodline. He was collapsed, covered in moss and muck. I honestly thought he was dead, so I took him back to the workshop to see what I could salvage.” He laughed, a rich chortle Genji would sooner associate with someone cheerful. “Imagine my surprise when he booted up after a little time in the sun! Couldn’t leave the little guy by himself when my vacation ended, so I… took him with me. He’s been helping me in the garden back home and I knew the one here could use some extra care, so I thought… why not?”

“He likes the peace and connection to nature,” Master affirmed.

“Does he?” Torbjörn said, giving Bastion an evaluating but fond look.

Bastion whistled affectionately.

⟪This is bizarre.⟫ Genji muttered.

Master shot him a disapproving glance. “And Winston knows that Bastion is here?”

“Of course! It’s his place. I’m not one to bring uninvited guests!”

“And you… _like _having Bastion here?” Genji just couldn’t reconcile the outspokenly anti-omnic agent he knew willingly befriending one of the Crisis models.

“Not that I have to explain myself to you,” Torbjörn said gruffly. “But I had time to… reflect on a lot of things while I was home. I made a lot of mistakes in the past. Made a lot of enemies, too.” He looked up at Bastion. “But there might be something to say for making new friends of old enemies.”

“A lesson we would all do well to learn,” Master nodded.

Genji shook his head. Skeptical as he was, Master would not be pleased if he voiced his doubts, so compliments would do better. “I always knew you were a softy, deep down." He paused, then gave in to pettiness. "Deep, deep, _deep _down.”

“Bah!” Torbjörn waved a finger in his direction. “This doesn’t change anything! Your girlfriend is up to something suspicious!”

If _that’s_ the way he wanted to handle this, then--

The Forge’s door swung open abruptly, and Reinhardt stepped out into the garden. “Ah! Still here?”

“The only way out is through the Forge,” Torbjörn said. “You’d notice if we left.”

Reinhardt ignored him, walking over to the group and throwing a few mock punches at Bastion, who shifted into his bipedal sentry mode, mimicking the punches with his own arms.

Wait a minute, did this mean-- “Is Bastion a member of Overwatch now?” He asked.

“If you’re asking if he’ll fight with us, the answer’s no,” Torbjörn said. “He’s easily startled. Doesn’t do well in strange places or crowds. He’s happy to garden, so that’s where he stays.”

Genji nodded. He supposed it made sense. Having a literal war machine probably wouldn’t endear the world to the new Overwatch. It was probably for the best that-- a beeping interrupted Genji’s thoughts and an incoming call blinked on his visor.

“If you ever need assistance communicating with Bastion or meeting his needs,” Master was saying, “please feel no hesitation in counting me among your friends. Genji will help, too, of course. Genji?”

“My apologies,” Genji said distractedly. “Hanzo is calling me. I need to take this.”

He turned and sprinted away from the group, back through the Forge and up the stairs. Hanzo always planned his calls ahead of time _especially_ on a mission. It had to be the middle of the night in Dorado-- but why would Hanzo be calling him instead of Winston if this was an emergency?

Genji had to tap his passcode in twice before his door opened for him. Was it a personal crisis? Oh, _no_, what if Hanzo and Jesse’s ‘truce’ had failed?

Snatching his tablet off his desk, he hit the answer icon so hard it left a small dent in the glass. The video feed blinked to life.

⟪Brother, what’s wrong?⟫ Genji’s eyes darted over Hanzo’s picture, examining him for signs of stress or injury, but discovering none.

⟪Nothing is wrong,⟫ Hanzo said, sounding mildly confused.

The adrenaline faded as his inspection confirmed Hanzo’s words. Okay. He was okay. Finally able to breathe freely, he laughed, removing his faceplate. Maybe he took after his brother more than he thought, immediately assuming the worst like that. ⟪If nothing is wrong, why are you calling?⟫

Hanzo smiled wryly. ⟪Am I not permitted to call my brother unless it involves business?⟫

⟪No! Not at all. It’s just unusual that you’re calling me at this hour. I was worried that something had happened.⟫

⟪Ah. I-- my apologies. I did not mean to worry you.⟫

⟪Eh, no harm done. At least I get to talk to you!⟫ Genji pulled his legs up into a more comfortable position as he settled into the call. ⟪How is the mission so far? Winston says everything is going well, but won’t give me any details.⟫

Hanzo leaned back in his seat, which... looked strangely similar to a lounge chair. Odd. ⟪I am sure it could be worse,⟫ he said. ⟪But I am hard pressed to imagine how.⟫

⟪Mhm.⟫ Genji hummed blandly with his chin propped on his hand, still trying to figure out where Hanzo could be that had lounge chairs. Willingly, no less. His brother scowled. ⟪Oh! Ah, I mean-- _really_? I am _so _surprised to hear that yet another team is not up to your impossible standards. Do tell how they have managed to disappoint you this time.⟫

Hanzo _tch_ed. ⟪I do not know why I bother to call you.⟫

⟪Because you love your little brother,⟫ Genji teased.

⟪Against all good reason, clearly.⟫

Genji snorted. ⟪Okay, you've done your tsundere act, now spill!⟫

⟪Fine. I don't think we've truly made progress against Los Muertos,⟫ Hanzo ranted, jostling the camera a bit. Was he outside? ⟪Or found any evidence Talon is operating in the country, let alone this city. It is partially my fault, but--⟫

Genji gasped dramatically. ⟪Did my perfect brother just admit to a flaw?!⟫

Hanzo glared half-heartedly, but continued. ⟪This team was not well selected. I am the only one taking the mission seriously. Santos is completely inexperienced and unprofessional, McCree is sneaking off at every opportunity, and Oxton managed to give herself third degree burns going to the beach without sunscreen. I have had to cover all of her watch shifts.⟫

Those had to be paper lanterns in the background. Wait-- Jesse shirking his duties? That was _his_ thing. ⟪Truly? Lúcio and Jesse wouldn't help?⟫

⟪McCree insisted that they were better off doing field work, as they are both fluent in Spanish.⟫

Ah. ⟪That makes more sense, although that’s not fair to you.⟫

⟪It’s a mission,⟫ Hanzo said dismissively. ⟪’Fair’ does not matter. Results matter, but we _have _no results.⟫

⟪If that’s the case, I’m surprised you let them go to the beach at all.⟫

Hanzo pressed his lips together in a thin line. ⟪We each have four free hours every day to be used at our own discretion. It is not my place to dictate how they are spent. So, yes, Santos and Oxton went to the beach-- and, yes, I _did_ tell her to wear sunscreen. However, she declined to listen to sense.⟫

⟪And of course, the world would be at peace if everyone had the sense to listen to you,⟫ Genji said, fox-grin firmly in place.

⟪It would,⟫ Hanzo said with defiant certainty.

⟪So your main complaint is a sunburn?⟫ He asked, only partially invested in the conversation. Lounge chair, outside, nighttime, paper lanterns… hotel courtyard? No, not lit well enough.

⟪It is not simply a sunburn! It is a complete lack of forethought and disregard for common sense! And no, it is not my only complaint.⟫ Hanzo paused, probably for dramatic effect. Genji learned from the best, after all. ⟪Santos' fluent comprehension of the local language has been exceedingly helpful. I cannot say the same for his attitude.⟫

⟪Really? _Sunshine _needs an attitude adjustment?⟫ Genji laughed. ⟪Not stormy enough for you?⟫

⟪I am serious!⟫

⟪You’re Hanzo. You’re always serious.⟫ 

Hanzo huffed before continuing. ⟪Santos’ distrust of corporations is almost rabid. You should see him glare at the power buildings-- yes, glare!⟫ He insisted, likely due to Genji’s doubting expression. ⟪LumériCo and Vishkar are tangentially related, no more or less than any other international organization, to be perfectly frank, but the way he carries on about it, you’d think they were one in the same! He mutters throughout his entire watch, but of course he doesn’t turn the Babrick off so I must listen to the English translation _and_\--⟫

That’s it, he couldn’t take the mystery anymore. ⟪Hold on, brother, where _are_ you?⟫

Hanzo blinked, not happy to be interrupted. ⟪I am at the beach.⟫

⟪The _beach_?⟫ Well, that did explain the lounge chair. And darkness. ⟪All that complaining about Lena’s sunburn and you’re at the beach?⟫

⟪There’s no danger of sunburn at night.⟫

⟪Who goes to the beach _at night_?⟫ Genji shook his head. ⟪Brother, you do the strangest things.⟫

⟪It is more peaceful this time of night.⟫

⟪What place isn’t more peaceful in the hours before dawn?⟫ Genji squinted. ⟪There’s more to it, isn’t there? There’s a reason you didn’t schedule this call.⟫

⟪I do not know what you mean,⟫ Hanzo denied.

Genji steepled his fingers thoughtfully. ⟪You’re waiting for something. I’m your way of passing the time aren’t I?⟫ Late night call without warning would mean that Hanzo hadn’t anticipated this need, waiting in a strange place at a stranger time of night... What a puzzle! ⟪What are you doing? You’re too professional to do this while scouting or for a stake out--⟫ Genji paused, remembering his initial fear when Hanzo called, about the truce with Jesse. Hanzo was too professional to chat while on a mission, but for a personal grudge? That was another matter entirely. ⟪Who’s on watch?⟫

⟪I don’t see why that-- ⟫

⟪It’s Lena and Lúcio on duty, isn’t it? You’re staking out for Jesse!⟫

Hanzo glared through the screen.

⟪_Knew _it,⟫ Genji said. Well-solved, if he did say so himself!

⟪Insufferable.⟫

⟪You love me.⟫ He dropped the teasing tone, letting his concern show through. ⟪So, what’s going on? What’re you stalking him for?⟫

⟪I’m not stalking him. It’s... due diligence. He’s been acting suspicious.⟫

Genji hummed doubtfully. ⟪And what does that mean to you, exactly? Jesse could do nothing but his job and you’d think it strange.⟫

⟪Irrelevant. He’s disappeared every night so far. I suspect I already know what his nighttime activities consist of.⟫

Blocks of free time in Dorado? Genji could guess what Jesse was up to as well. He didn’t see the issue. ⟪And this matters to you because…?⟫

⟪Sleeping with locals can compromise the mission!⟫

⟪The mission that you’ve made no progress on?⟫ He asked. ⟪The one where you can’t find any Talon activity? That mission?⟫

⟪Perhaps we can’t find evidence because McCree’s paramour is warning them of our intentions!⟫

Genji rolled his eyes. There’s his favorite paranoid brother. Reset the counter. ⟪Whatever your opinion of him, Jesse isn’t careless or stupid. Sure, he’s probably out getting laid, but if he is, then he’s also digging for information. He likes to multitask like that.⟫

⟪Everything I have seen has pointed to the contrary,⟫ Hanzo insisted.

⟪So are we to elevate your three-month history with him to my decade?⟫ Genji said, irritation seeping into his tone. ⟪Brother, this keeps happening. Why do you discount my words when it comes to my opinion of others? Why are you so distrustful of everyone?⟫

⟪We can always be mistaken in our assessments of others.⟫

Genji sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. It always went back to that, didn’t it? ⟪You’re not wrong. We’ve both experienced that truth first hand.⟫

Hanzo looked away, face full of guilt.

⟪Isn’t this exhausting for you, though?⟫ Genji asked. ⟪Distrusting everyone, expecting the worst?⟫

⟪It’s efficient. The worst always comes to pass eventually.⟫

He shook his head. ⟪I asked if it was exhausting, not if it was efficient.⟫

Hanzo shrugged uncomfortably.

Genji’s heart sunk at his reaction. ⟪Brother, I’m… worried for you.⟫

⟪No! Do not be,⟫ Hanzo reassured him. ⟪I have been on my own for a long time, I am used to relying on myself.⟫

Of all the dense thinking-- ⟪That is _why_ I’m worried about you. You deserve to have people to rely on. You deserve to have a team. If you keep looking for the worst, the worst is all you’ll ever find.⟫

Hanzo stared off to the side, not looking into the camera. Genji remained silent, patiently waiting for Hanzo to speak again.

⟪I… appreciate your concern,⟫ Hanzo said. ⟪Truly. I just… It is not easy, learning to trust again.⟫

⟪I know. It is one of the hardest things we can ever do, but you _can_ do it.⟫ He willed a smile into place. ⟪I have never known my brother to step down from a challenge.⟫

⟪There have been a few.⟫ Hanzo rubbed the bridge of his nose. ⟪How did you learn to trust others again?⟫

⟪It took a very long time,⟫ Genji admitted. ⟪But I had to start with those closest to me. Once I could trust the people I cared about, like Angela and Jesse, I was slowly able to expand that circle of trust. Master Zenyatta was a huge help there as well.⟫

⟪The key to trusting is to trust others, who would have guessed.⟫ Hanzo sighed deeply. ⟪I will… think on your words.⟫ He paused, then laughed softly. ⟪I am continuously surprised at how much you’ve changed.⟫

⟪For the better, of course!⟫

⟪Sometimes.⟫

⟪Brother!⟫ Genji protested, but really, he was too happy to see his brother willing to try to put much heart into it.

Hanzo chuckled, but stopped abruptly, turning sharply in his seat to look behind him. Straining his ears, Genji thought he could hear singing. ⟪Thank you for the chat, Genji.⟫ Hanzo said, snapping back into his curt mannerisms.

It must be Jesse, then. ⟪Remember what I said, Brother! You have to start trusting _someone_.⟫

⟪Good_bye_, Genji.⟫

⟪Bye, Brother!⟫

Genji contemplated the screen as it went dark. He might have altered the truth a bit. The first time he remembered ever truly trusting someone was _months_ after he began tutelage under Master. He made it sound much easier than it really was.

Eh, oh well. Hanzo always scolded him for not aiming high enough. Challenges were good for building character. He was sure it’d be fine. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo ended the call, putting the tablet in his messenger bag. Dusting off the sand from his clothes, he walked away from the beach and towards the street, listening to the voice grow louder.

“It’s another tequiiiila sunrise,” the warbling tone echoed down the empty streets. “Starin’ slowly ‘cross the skyyy.” 

It certainly sounded like it could be McCree. The thick accent was unquestionably present.

“Said goodbyyyyye.” Sure enough, McCree himself stepped out of an alleyway, not quite stumbling, but certainly unsteady on his feet. Drunk, beyond a doubt. “He was just a hired hand-- um, somethin’ somethin’ somethin’ try! The days go byyy.”

Ugh. Hanzo really did not want to deal with a drunk McCree. The man was obnoxious enough sober. …But he could only blame himself. _He’s_ the one who couldn’t trust his teammates to do anything other than make abysmal decisions. Although, watching McCree stagger down the road, he suspected he may not be disproved in this instance.

“Every night when the sun goes down!” McCree sang.

Really, he should just go back to the beach and enjoy the sunrise. Salvage this night while he still could.

“Just another lonely boy in town!”

No use. He couldn’t do it. This atrocity must stop here. He stepped out of the shadows and made his way to McCree.

“She’s not arou-- Hanzo! Hey, man, what’re you doin’ here?”

McCree slung an arm over Hanzo’s shoulder and Hanzo promptly shoved him off. The sudden lack of support caused McCree to stumble, but he appeared too drunk to realize that he hadn’t simply slipped. Sloppy.

“Woops-- sorry ‘bout that. These roads are awful crooked.”

“The roads are level. _You _are drunk.”

McCree ignored him, continuing his one-sided conversation. “Ain’t it a pretty night? Can’t see the stars much, but there’s still so many lights! Oh, and the sun, the sun’s coming up.” He tried slinging his arm over Hanzo again.

Apparently, McCree was a friendly drunk. A loud, talkative, _touchy_ drunk. Hanzo turned on his heel in the direction of the hotel. It didn’t matter if McCree followed him or passed out on the beach. He was _not_ dealing with this.

“No, wait, Hanzo! Hanzo! Haaaaanzo!”

Hanzo walked faster. The sound of McCree’s unsteady steps grew more distant, but his relief was short-lived.

“I walk a lonely road!” McCree belted out. In a distant alley, a cat yowled. “The only one that I have ever known--”

Hanzo whirled around. “McCree! Shut_. Up_.”

“Don’t know where it goes! But it’s only me and I walk alo-- ow!” McCree rubbed the back of his head where Hanzo had cuffed him.

“Be silent, you embarrassment to society!”

“Aw, Hanzo, you came back for me!”

“I will leave if you start singing again,” Hanzo threatened.

“You like hearin’ me talk that much, huh? Ain’t that such a sweet thing to say.” McCree laughed, leaning in close. “Don’t worry, sugar, I can be your nightingale.”

Hanzo pushed McCree to an arms-length again. “I said _no_ singing. And do not call me sugar.”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

“Do not call me that, either!”

“Whatever you say, sweetpea.”

“No! Ugh, nevermind. Be silent.”

“Can do, darlin’!”

Blessed quiet. For thirty seconds. Then, McCree started _whistling_.

They would never find his body.

It would not be easy in this city to make the body disappear, but at the very least he could pass it off as a Los Muertos murder. Even better, Hanzo may not need to do the work himself. He could simply lure McCree into a compromising position and let the matter resolve itself. Regrettably, that option meant he wouldn’t get the personal satisfaction of watching the life drain from McCree’s eyes.

“Hey. Hey-- Hanzo.”

“_What?_”

“Dang, no need to be all snippy! Just wanted to ask why we were walkin’ past our hotel.”

Sure enough, Hanzo had marched right past the entrance, having been completely absorbed in his murderous fantasies. He did _not_ growl in frustration.

“I was leading you to your death.”

McCree laughed loudly. “Hahaha! That’s a good one, cupcake.”

Hanzo glared and McCree actually _yelped_ before beelining to the hotel. Muttering under his breath, Hanzo followed. Thankfully, McCree didn’t need significant guidance to locate the correct rooms. Unfortunately, that did not extend to his ability to open doors.

“Haaaan, the door won’t open,” he whined, pawing at the handle.

Hanzo moved away from the scouting room Santos and Oxton were in. “What are you talking about? The light is green. Just turn the handle.”

“It’s not workin’!”

“You _incompetent_\-- move.” Hanzo tapped the reader with their room card. It glowed green and he turned the handle without issue, opening the door to the empty room. “Was that really so diffi- _oof_.”

McCree shoved him through the door, diving in with him and closing it behind them. “Jesus,” he said, sounding distinctly sober. “Didn’t think we’d _ever _make it back.”

Hanzo scrambled further into the room, putting much-needed distance between them. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He said, leaning against the wall. “We had a tail.”

“We?” He quickly reviewed their journey to the hotel. Nothing had seemed suspicious. “You mean _you_ had a tail. When? For how long?”

“They followed me from the bar I was canvassing. Not sure if we actually lost them, but they _probably _didn’t follow us into the hotel.”

“You were canvassing a bar? I thought--” Hanzo cut himself off, but not soon enough.

“You thought what?”

“I thought you were... getting tamales.” He said archly.

“Shit, I _wish_ I was gettin’ laid-- but I got somethin’ better.”

“Wait-- were you even drunk? Why the obnoxious act?”

“Oh no, I am _definitely _drunk.” McCree squinted. “A bit more sober than on our walk, though. There’s only two of you now.” He hiccuped, and Hanzo was _mostly_ sure it wasn’t for show. “What, you didn’t like my singin’?”

“Absolutely not,” Hanzo said, scowling. “Nor did I appreciate the nicknames.”

McCree snort-laughed. “Duly noted, sweetheart.”

His eye twitched. “Well? What did you learn that was worth my suffering?”

Jesse held up his phone and wiggled it. “Talon’s pickin’ up an arms shipment from Los Muertos, and _I’ve_ got all the details.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'm so sorry this is late, i lost track of days!)


	24. Recon

The bakery’s door chimed when he opened it, the delicious scents of fresh breads and pastries drawing Jesse into the shop like a siren’s call. The shopkeeper greeted him with a smile, which he could only return dopily as his eyes wandered over all the baked goods on display. If he could, he’d order one of everything, but his wallet was feeling light and he was supposed to get something for everyone back at the room. Pre-op snacks were essential, after all. Talon was making their move tonight and they needed to be prepared.

Well, as prepared as they could be. Lena was still recovering from one of the worst sunburns Jesse’d ever seen. She was lucky it hadn’t developed into sun poisoning, but she was still in quite a bit of pain-- couldn’t even keep watch for the first few days, moving hurt her so bad. She was past that now, happily pulling double shifts to make up for the ones she missed, but there was no way she could be involved in any considerable physical activity. So they put her in charge of comm relay for the evening, to her everlasting disappointment. He’d get her something chewy and delicious to make up for it.

He knew what to get for Lúcio, too. Sunshine liked spicy foods for every meal, snack, and dessert, so when Jesse had introduced him to Mexican candy it was an instant hit. It seemed Lúcio always had a spice-covered lollipop in his mouth or on its way to it. Even during the mission huddle earlier that day, he had a batch on hand. During the huddle, they decided Sunshine would be in reserve for tonight's fight-- he simply wasn’t trained for it and if he got involved in a confrontation, his fame would only work against him.

For himself? Well, the pastries drew his eye, but what Jesse _really_ craved was action. He preferred working on an empty stomach. As tantalizing as sweets were, the bakery would still be here after the mission. That only left Hanzo and, luckily, he had a good idea of what to get him.

Now, Jesse wasn’t a culinary expert on Japanese foods, but you learn a thing or two when your best friend’s a native. He knew bitter foods had a reputation as a flavor for sophisticated and mature pallets, so he figured that would be Hanzo’s preferred taste. But when he bought matcha-flavored cake yesterday, Hanzo barely managed a few bites before he abandoned it entirely. The same could _not _be said for the _pan dulce_ Jesse had bought for himself; A whole weekend’s worth of dessert gone in under an hour. That’s how he discovered the taciturn, grumpy logistician had a sweet tooth a mile wide.

The irony was beautiful and Jesse would _absolutely _be holding it over Hanzo’s head for the rest of eternity.

Fortunately, this bakery had everything he could possibly need for the team. They even had three different flavors of Mexican lollipops for Sunshine! The shopkeep was bagging it all up when Jesse heard the bell chime again, the scent of carbon almost overpowering. He glanced behind him to see a young girl, maybe eleven or so, sprinting straight into the shopkeep’s legs. The shopkeep stumbled back in surprise and smiled apologetically at Jesse, who returned the expression blankly. 

Why would a child smell of carbon and looked all roughed up like that?

⟪Mamá, Mamá, you would never _believe_ what happened, I--⟫

But her mother waved her off. ⟪Alejandra, I have a customer, let me finish with him and then--⟫

⟪But Mamá, it was Soldier: 76! He’s _real_! And he saved me!⟫

The woman looked up sharply at Jesse, who continued smiling blandly, pretending he didn’t know a lick of Spanish. She turned back to her daughter. ⟪Saved you? Saved you from what?⟫

⟪Oh, uh, nothing serious,⟫ Alejandra said guiltily. ⟪Alejandra María Lenora López de--⟫

⟪Okay, okay! It was Los Muertos! I was going to the supermarket like you asked, but they stopped me and tried making me hit an omnic, but I ran away into the back alleys to lose them--⟫

⟪Shh!⟫ From his peripheral, he could see the shopkeeper eyeing him again. Good thing he was looking through her custom order book as though he wasn’t _intensely_ interested in their conversation. The shopkeep lowered her voice. ⟪Running into dark alleys to lose a gang? What were you thinking? We’ll talk about this later. Go in the back room, I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished with the customer.⟫

Alejandra groaned but complied.

“Sorry about that, señor,” The shopkeeper said with a dazzling smile. “Children can be so excitable. Will this be all for you today?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you very much.” Jesse paid for the desserts, as eager to leave as the shopkeeper was to see him go.

As he walked out the door, Jesse looked up the nearest supermarkets and began walking for the closest one, eyes sharp for signs of fighting. He barely had the chance to turn a corner before he found his first obvious hint-- an ambulance in a crowded plaza. Though it must not be an emergency, since the lights weren’t flashing. More likely an overheated tourist or--

⟪...killed him, right in the middle of the plaza.⟫

\--Or someone already dead. Jesse perked up, angling his head to hear out his better ear.

⟪...can’t really kill an omnic… agree, though, shame and… violence needs to stop. Bad for business.⟫

There were similar whispers all throughout the crowd of locals, “Los Muertos” and “Soldado: 76” repeated in the hushed tones of wariness, suspicion, and fear. Seemed he was on the right track.

Jesse looked around the plaza, trying to visualize where little Alejandra’s journey might have taken her. She would have come from the bakery just like he had, going through the plaza at a northwest angle to get to the supermercado. If the ambulance wasn’t far from where the assault took place, then he could use his current position to see what “dark alleys” Alejandra might have tried to escape through. Conveniently enough, the obvious candidate was directly to his left. All the other alleys were vibrant with festive decorations, except this one that led to loading docks on the backside of a restaurant.

He casually wandered into the alley, shifting the paper bag of desserts from one arm to the other. No one tried to stop or follow him, which he decided was a good thing. Neon graffiti painted the walls, Los Muertos tags obvious to even the untrained eye. Jesse knew Los Muertos was essentially unchecked in this region, but he still found it impressive that they were so blasé about it. Course, Blackwatch hadn’t been any better. They just didn’t have any nice places to deface. That and they weren’t nowhere _near_ as artistic.

Halfway down the alley, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he knew he was being followed. He turned and paused.

“Can I help you?” He called out, sticking to English. Los Muertos hadn’t bothered him the last time he pretended to be a tourist. It might work this time, too. Although… Last time he wasn’t ass deep in their territory. 

He waited a while longer and when no one responded or made a move, he continued on.

The apprehensive feeling didn’t fade.

The alley was long and winding and he hadn’t seen any signs of combat since the plaza. Shifting the bag of desserts in his arms again, Jesse scanned his surroundings. Someone was close. And it wasn’t Los Muertos.

⟪Stop.⟫

Jesse froze, looking for the source of the low, gravelly voice.

⟪Put the bag down.⟫

Slowly, Jesse began to turn around.

⟪Stay facing forward. Let’s not involve unnecessary head trauma.⟫

⟪I’d say that sounds like a fine idea,⟫ Jesse agreed, slowly bending down and placing the desserts at his feet.

⟪Put your hands in the air.⟫

Jesse complied.

A man emerged from the shadows of a building and Jesse mentally kicked himself for not noticing the small alcove sooner. The guy was tall-- as tall as Jesse, so definitely not of local stock. His face was obscured by a red visor layered over a metallic half-mask, only a pale, scarred forehead and a short-cropped white hair were really visible. He was dressed head to toe in tactical gear, bandoliers strapped over his leather jacket, gloved hands holding an absolutely _massive_ rifle-- the kind of rifle Jesse’d only seen mounted on armored vehicles.

⟪Soldier: 76, I presume?⟫

⟪Who’s asking?⟫

⟪Anyone with eyes, I’d imagine,⟫ Jesse said drily. ⟪Not too many Mexicans would run around in a red-white-and-blue leather jacket like an off-brand Captain America. You’re an urban legend to the locals.⟫

Soldier grunted. ⟪I’d prefer it to stay that way and _you _to stay out of my way.⟫

Well that’s cute. ⟪I don’t even know which way you’re goin’, old man, how am I supposed to stay out of your way?⟫

⟪This isn’t your town.⟫ Soldier said forcefully. ⟪It isn’t Los Muertos’, either. Stop sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong.⟫

⟪Look who’s talkin’.⟫ Jesse experimentally lowered his arms, but lifted them higher when Soldier flipped off the safety of his rifle. ⟪You been elected leader of the city or you just terrorizin’ it?⟫

⟪Just passing through.⟫

⟪What d’you know, me too.⟫

⟪You’ve been here for a week.⟫

Shit, if Soldier’s been watching them, what about Talon? Except they probably weren’t on ground yet. But Los Muertos would pass on intel, wouldn’t they?

He cleared his throat. ⟪And after tonight, I expect we won’t be here for another few days. We’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Or what’s left of it.⟫

⟪After tonight?⟫

⟪Yup.⟫

The silence dragged on, but Jesse refused to say anything more. Turns out, he didn’t need to.

⟪...The exchange,⟫ Soldier said.

Jesse shrugged, though it probably didn’t seem nearly relaxed as usual with his damn hands in the air. ⟪I’m not here for no drug deals, if that’s what you’re drivin’ at.⟫

⟪No, I’ve been watching you. You found Los Muertos, but didn’t pursue. They’re just a pawn to you.⟫ Another pause while Soldier worked it out. ⟪You’re after Talon. Why?⟫

⟪_You_ know about Talon?⟫ 

That called for a rapid recalculation of the situation. Los Muertos feared Soldier, Soldier said they didn’t own the city, logical conclusion is that Soldier and Los Muertos were enemies. Talon was working a deal with Los Muertos, so they were at least allies of convenience. Overwatch was against Talon and by extension Los Muertos, so them and Soldier…?

⟪Answer the question,⟫ Soldier growled.

⟪Yes,⟫ Jesse said. ⟪We’re after Talon. They’re huntin’ Overwatch agents, tryin’ to start another Crisis, all sorts of bad shit. Who wouldn’t wanna stop them?⟫

⟪Everyone in their pocket.⟫

⟪Well, you’re a ray of sunshine, ain’t ya?⟫ 

Soldier grunted.

Jesse rolled his shoulders, discomfort from holding them aloft settling in. He eyed Soldier’s rifle. Well. Ain’t been shot yet, so maybe he had a chance. ⟪Say, we’re goin’ after Talon, _you’re_ goin’ after Talon, why don’t we team up for it?⟫

He could hear the skepticism in Soldier’s voice. ⟪Having the same enemy isn’t the same as sharing a goal.⟫

⟪Yeah? Well, _our _goal is to find out why Talon needs this weapon shipment and put a stop to it. How’s that sound to you?⟫

⟪Why should I trust you?⟫ Soldier asked, still keeping his rifle’s muzzle pointed at Jesse. ⟪We could take out Talon and then you could hand me over to the authorities.⟫

Jesse laughed. ⟪Ha! In this town? We’d just be handin’ you over to Los Muertos and they’d just as soon take us with you.⟫

⟪Well, at least I know you’re not stupid.⟫

⟪Look at that,⟫ Jesse drawled. ⟪We’re practically friends! Now why don’t you point that gun somewhere that ain’t at me?⟫

Slowly, Soldier lowered the gun. Jesse dropped his arms in relief. The blood rushed back to his hands with an unpleasant tingle.

⟪There, that wasn’t too hard, was it? So how do you wanna do this? I’ve still got a bag of goodies,⟫ Jesse picked up the decidedly cooler bag of desserts, ⟪and a stake-out room full of hungry agents. You wanna come with me to the team? We can go over the plan together.⟫

Soldier shook his head. ⟪_I_ call the shots.⟫

Jesse rolled his eyes. ⟪Yeah, whatever, big guy. Why don’t you come tell us what your shots are?⟫

⟪No.⟫ Soldier pointed at him, rather rudely if he might add. ⟪Here’s what’s going to happen. You and _only you_ will show up at Aviendo Hidalgo at 2300. You will be armed and prepared for a fight. I’ll provide further directions at the rendezvous.⟫

Jesus, what an egotistical asshole. Maybe Winston was on to something and he _was_ related to Morrison. ⟪Well, gee, when you put it like that, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to work with such a swell guy?⟫

⟪Will you be there or not?⟫ And Jesse felt a petty satisfaction, hearing Soldier’s annoyed tone.

⟪Fuck if I know, Chuckles, I have a _team _to work with. Maybe I’ll be there, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll take a shot at you if I see you at the exchange. Who fuckin’ knows?⟫

⟪Punk.⟫

⟪Prick.⟫

Soldier nodded. ⟪Look forward to working with you.⟫ 

What a jackass.

With that, Soldier turned on his heel and walked away. Jesse was surprised to see the back of his jacket scorched and partially melted. Soldier even limped slightly as he melted into the shadows. He must have directly confronted Los Muertos when he rescued Alejandra… and she wasn’t marked at all. And the smell of carbon that hung on her... Did he shield her from enemy fire?

Hm. Alright. _Maybe _he was a decent guy. Still an asshole.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo leaned over the maps they had spread over the ensuite desk, studying every possible angle, memorizing all the potential avenues of approach. Tonight would potentially be their first real confrontation with Talon and their plan of action relied on a significant number of assumptions.

They assumed that Talon wouldn’t be there in force. They assumed Talon was only looking to make a quick exchange. They assumed their operations hadn’t already been exposed-- that this wasn’t a trap. He didn’t like it. With Oxton not available as a combat force, only himself and McCree would be on the ground in the event that a conflict arose. It was far too few.

“Evenin’ everyone!” McCree practically shouted when he entered the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “Who wants food?” “Me!” Oxton shouted, Blinking to his side instead of walking.

McCree chuckled and handed her a smaller bag from within the large one he carried. “One for you. One for Lúcio!” He tossed a clear plastic bag full of those atrocious lollipops to their medic. “And one for Hanzo.” Thankfully, McCree simply passed Hanzo’s share, instead of throwing it through the air.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said distractedly, setting the bag aside for now. “We are pressed for time. We can eat as we talk.”

“You don’t wanna talk about _why_ we’re pressed for time?” McCree asked, sounding strangely smug.

“I believe we have the evidence.” Hanzo nodded at all the baked goods. “I have no interest in wasting time further discussing it.”

“The bakery wasn’t even five minutes away.” McCree dropped onto one of the beds, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I picked up a lead.”

Hanzo suppressed a flash of irritation, instead leaning back in his chair and giving McCree his polite interest. So far McCree’s information gathering had proven useful. It was time to give him the… benefit of the doubt. _Trust _in his abilities.

“There was a murder near the bakery, of an omnic,” McCree explained. “All the signs of your typical Los Muertos hit, except for the mess they left behind. They’d left in a hurry and so I followed their trail-- and guess who I found?”

"Their hideout?" Santos asked.

“Their boss?” Oxton guessed.

“The Soldier,” Hanzo realized after running through a mental list.

“You found him?” Santos asked, surprised.

“That’s right,” McCree said, puffing out his chest. “Soldado: 76 himself. Got myself a whole chat with him-- and he’s helpin’ us out tonight.”

“Wow,” Oxton breathed. “What was he like?”

“Typical mercenary asshole.”

“Aw,” She took another bite of her dessert to soften her apparent disappointment.

Hanzo spoke before they could prevaricate further. “Can I ask what the terms of this alliance are?”

“Well,” Jesse drawled. “Turns out he’s after Talon just like we are. Our goals are the same, so we’ll work together to stop the exchange and then go our separate ways from there.”

“Stop?” Hanzo repeated incredulously. “We barely have sufficient assets to observe the exchange.”

“Well, situationally dependent. I figure if we _can_ stop it, we should, yeah?”

It was incredibly unlikely they’d possess the capability that night, so it was not worth arguing further. The alliance, however… “And this Soldier is willing to accept our decision on whether or not to engage the situation?”

Jesse shrugged. “Eh, probably not.” Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. “But he’s _known_ locally. If he pulls some stupid shit, we can just duck out and let him take the fall for his own mistakes.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Santos said past a mouthful of candy.

“A rather mercenary alliance,” Hanzo agreed.

McCree moved from the bed to the table with Hanzo. “Befits our mercenary lives, I figure.”

So be it. He turned on his tablet. “Then let us review our plan.”

McCree eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not gonna complain about every which way I did that?”

“Still pressed for time, McCree,” Hanzo reminded him.

“Alright, alright.”

He maximized the satellite image on his tablet. “There are four of us and we already planned on having each of us facing one side of the ziggurat.” Four red dots on each side of the building represented the team. “Once we obtain positive visual identification of the exchange, all members will converge on that side.”

“Including me?” Oxton asked.

“No, you will remain here at the hotel.” He pointed at the dot furthest away from the pyramid. “Facing the southern side and acting as comm relay.”

“Piss.”

“Sorry, sugar,” McCree consoled her. “But if you wanted to have an active role, you shouldn’t have gotten yourself burnt up.” “Yeah, I know,” she sighed. “I’ll be good.”

“I had planned to put myself on the west side, at the loading docks where the exchange is most likely to occur, with McCree on the north and Santos on the east. Now that we have Soldier, we can adjust.” He added another dot, this time blue, on the west side of the building.

Santos perked up, speaking around another lollipop. “Putting me on the east side will mean I am the furthest away from the action. What if someone gets hurt?”

Hanzo nodded. “Yes, you will be furthest away. You are not trained for combat. Having you too close risks injury to you. We have no secondary medic. Should we need medical assistance, we must have it appear as though you just happened to be in the area. You are too well known to be seen engaging directly and even if we could disguise you, your hardware is far too recognizable.”

“Well… it makes sense.” Santos gnawed on his candy.

McCree patted Santos’ shoulder. “That’s just how it is with mission constraints, Sunshine.” He addressed Hanzo next. “Want to put me and Soldier on the west side? He was adamant about only workin’ with me. You know the type.” “I usually am the type,” Hanzo said dryly. Perhaps not unexpectedly, McCree laughed. “But, yes, I feel that arrangement would be best. There are several perches that allow me moderate visuals for both the west and north side. Unfortunately, it will take time to relocate into a position for direct sights on the docks. Possibly up to ten minutes.”

“Hm.” McCree stared intently at the tablet. “Ten minutes is a long time when bullets are flyin’.”

“Which is why it will be imperative to alert me _immediately_ upon confirming Talon presence,” Hanzo said. “And only engage if we are at a distinct advantage. This is primarily an information gathering operation. We need to discover the nature of the arms, their intended use, and why Talon would need Los Muertos to provide them.”

“Cause they’re shady?” Oxton asked.

“Talon is well-funded enough to acquire arms from legitimate sources,” he pointed out. “They do not need Los Muertos. And what would Los Muertos gain in associating with such a high-profile international organization? Their interests have never looked outside the city of Dorado.”

“So whatever we find is going to have significant repercussions?” Santos asked.

“Most likely,” Hanzo agreed.

“Well. Let’s gear up then,” McCree said with a wolfish grin. “Don’t wanna miss the gift exchange.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse crouched next to Soldier as they watched the loading docks behind LumériCo.

“You haven’t asked me my name.” Soldier said. They dropped Spanish when Soldier absolutely _butchered_ the pronunciation for three different words in one go. It was honestly painful to hear.

Jesse chewed on his cigar stub, unlit of course. “Figured you would tell me if you didn’t like bein’ called Soldier.”

Soldier grunted.

“You ain’t asked my name, either,” he pointed out.

“Jesse McCree. Wanted: dead or alive. 60 million bounty. Crimes include: murder, desertion, sedition, espionage. I know who you are.”

He posted up on his elbows, taking his eyes off docks to stare at Soldier, who stared straight ahead.“You know, summarizin’ the worst bits of someone’s life like a grocery list ain’t exactly endearin.”

“Noted.”

Jesse opened his mouth to retort, but a silhouette in the distance caught his eye. “Movement, two o’clock.”

They both stilled and watched. It was only a security guard on his rounds, and they both relaxed when nothing else changed for five minutes.

“If you already knew who I was,” Jesse said, “Why didn’t you shoot me on sight? You wouldn’t be the first.”

Soldier grunted again. “Files all say you travel alone, in the US or near the border, never in cities. You’re here, as far south in Mexico as you can get, with a team, in a city. Something was up.”

“Well it might not’ve been anything good, for all you knew.”

“Different’s never good,” Soldier countered.

“Spoken like a true geezer.”

No response.

Jesse turned to him and squinted in the darkness. “So what’s your story, anyhow? How’d you end up in Dorado?”

“Same as you. Tracking Talon.”

“Actually,” he said in an overly cheerful tone. “We ended up here ‘cause I wanted a vacation and my boss has a strange fascination with you. Happy coincidence that Talon is cultivatin’ a conspiracy with the local gang.”

If the creases in Soldier’s forehead were anything to go by, this news was not pleasantly received. Like Jesse gave a shit. Really, it was just incentive to fuck with him more.

“Don’t worry,” he goaded, looking back out at Lumerico. “Guy’s a bit of an oddball but he’s got a heart of gold. I think it’s just a bit of hero worship and mistaken identity. You _probably_ won’t wake up with your organs harvested for study.”

“Mistaken for who?”

Jesse paused. “Your apprehensive tone tells me you already know, friend.”

“Yeah,” Soldier said resignedly. “I get it a lot.”

“You do have his height, his build, his shitty attitude. They never found his body, but we all assumed it just got incinerated in the blast.”

“Sounds like you think he could still be alive.”

Jesse shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

“And you think I’m just like him.”

“Long lost cousin, maybe?”

“But not him.” Soldier half-said, tone part-way between statement and question.

“Nah. If you were Jack Morrison, you’d have definitely shot me on sight.”

“You knew the Strike-Commander personally?” Soldier asked, clearly surprised.

Jesse shrugged. “I had personally worked with him, if that’s what you mean. He’s the one who put this bounty on my head, you know. Though it was only a mil at the time…”

“What was he like?”

“Total jackass.”

“Hm. Most people say different.”

“Most people didn’t have to work with him!” Jesse burst out. “They only saw him on posters or on the holoscreen, dolled up ten ways to Sunday with a pastor’s smile and snakeoil words. He was a ruthless, _mean _sumbitch. Victory at any cost type, lives were nothin’ but numbers. Once sacrificed a squad of his _own soldiers_ for a political power play.”

“I’m sure--” Soldier began uncomfortably.

“I think,” Jesse cut him off, willing the red in his vision to recede. “If we wanna continue bein’ on good terms while we wait to kill _even meaner_ sumbitches, we should stop talkin’ about Jack fuckin’ Morrison. May he rest in pieces.”

They lapsed into silence as Jesse fumed internally. It was his own fault. He always got worked into a state when Morrison came up-- and he was damn justified to do so! He couldn’t even attend Reyes’ fucking funeral because of the bullshit bounty that bastard put on his head. He had to watch them lower the casket from thousands of miles away, crying into bottles at a backwater bar.

Soldier shifted beside him. “Talon’s here.”

On edge, Jesse scanned the loading docks again. Not much had changed, except the group of nondescript workers smoking on the docks. Nothing about them screamed Talon, though.

“How do you know?”

“Watch that shadow behind the big guy.”

Jesse did, noting how the shadow moved in time with the man casting it. As shadows do.

“I don’t see-”

Then it happened. The shadow… _detached_ itself from the rest of the inky darkness, crawling along the wall behind one of the parked trucks. Once there, it swirled, and condensed until a figure materialized out of the dark.

“...What the _fuck_.”

“Reaper,” Soldier growled.

“What the fuck was that?” Jesse demanded.

“The shadow thing? Not sure. My guess is nanites.”

Jesse watched, vaguely nauseated, as the creature hovered at the fringes of shadows. “You’re tellin’ me that… _thing_ is a nanite colony?”

Soldier shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. If that was a cloud of improbably small nano-robots working as a single unit, how would you even put it offline? The nanites could just reform around injuries.

“Can you even kill it?” Maybe if you shot it in the head, enough of the critical-function nanites would be destroyed that you could buy yourself time to escape. Maybe.

“Haven’t managed it so far.”

Jesse balked. “You’ve fought it?!”

“Couple of times. Seems to have a thing against Morrison, too.”

“Not even Morrison deserved--” Jesse cut himself off, considering the Reaper's lurching movements. “No, actually, this would have been a _great _way for him to die. Totally deserved.” He watched the creature walk, looking deceptively human in its mannerisms. “If that’s Talon, where’s the exchange?”

“Workers moving.”

Sure enough, the group that had been smoking leapt to attention when they took notice of the abomination approaching them, one even running off down an alleyway. Likely a runner to tell Los Muertos the deal was on.

Jesse clicked his comm. “We’ve got movement. One Talon agent present, five workers, one ran off. Think he’s gettin’ Los Muertos, over.”

“Good copy,” Lena said. “I’ll relay to Storm and Sunshine, over.”

“Roger.”

He watched as one member of the group stepped forward and offered a hand to Reaper, who ignored it.

His comm beeped and Lena spoke. “Storm and Sunshine are informed. Storm is moving into position, over.”

“Understood. Movin’ up and goin’ dark, Tombstone out.” Jesse turned to Soldier. “Ready?”

Soldier hefted up his plasma rifle and nodded.

“Alright. We’re not to engage until after the exchange,” Jesse reminded him.

Soldier snorted. “I’m a little old to be prematurely firing. Worry about yourself.”

“Rude. I’ll have you know I’ve got _perfect_ timing.”

Soldier declined to respond. They crept down from their scouting position to the bottom of the hill, hiding behind the fleet of work vehicles, no more than 200 meters from where Reaper loomed over the distinctly anxious workers. Jesse strained to hear what they were saying.

⟪...almost here… received your… no issue?⟫

Reaper’s voice was too low to make anything out, but Jesse could see the workers shift uncomfortably.

⟪Shadow… causing problems…⟫ 

Jesse perked up. He didn’t believe in coincidences, especially since Sombra came up in too many conversations they had no right to be in. If Los Muertos was talking to Talon about Sombra’s involvement, then… well, he didn’t know what that meant. But it meant _something_.

The crunch of tires on loose gravel signaled the arrival of the rest of Los Muertos. A pickup truck drove through the lone gate, painted in toxic colors and laden with gang members hanging off every side. There was a giant piñata in the bed, designed to look like one of the war omnics of the Crisis. It didn’t take a large leap of logic to know there was something a little more explosive than pop rocks under the paper mache.

Where the workers and Reaper had been mostly silent, Los Muertos was practically screaming-- whooping and hollering to the moonless sky above.

“This is too many,” Soldier grumbled.

“What,” Jesse whispered back. “You really thought the two of us could take on a gang?”

“Gang’s not the problem. Reaper is.”

Reaper turned to face the truck, and Jesse got his first real look at it. A bone-white mask contrasted sharply against a dark black hood, no sign of a face-- if a mass of nano-bots could even bother to form a face. The mask mimicked some sort of animal skull, though Jesse couldn’t rightly say what kind. From its sharp angles, he’d guess a bird or some creepy hornless cow. And while Jesse couldn't see any weapons from this angle, Reaper's black leather duster could easily hide them from sight.

In a phrase, it was spooky as _shit_.

⟪Quiet down!⟫ The lead worker shouted.

⟪Why?⟫ The driver yelled back. ⟪We run this town. Nobody gonna stop us.⟫

⟪Like none of you stopped Soldier?⟫ Belatedly, the worker seemed to realize that it might not be the best idea to advertise your weakness to a business partner and her face blanched even as she shot an anxious grin at Reaper, who crossed his arms menacingly. ⟪Just… just load it into the truck.⟫

⟪You got it!⟫

Jesse waited for them to move to one of the many unmarked trucks already parked at the docks. They didn’t. His heart froze in his chest as five Los Muertos grunts jumped down from their pickup and made their way towards the truck shielding him and Soldier. “Shit, shit, shit, _move_!” “Better idea,” Soldier said, breaking free of Jesse's grasp. To Jesse’s absolute horror, Soldier stepped out from their hiding place. In the light of the ziggurat, before Los Muertos and God and everybody, he opened his mouth and said: “Lights out.”

A rocket shot out from his rifle, hitting a transformer box dead center, exploding in a shower of sparks and temporarily blinding Jesse and everyone else who didn’t have time to close their eyes. Still blind, Jesse scrambled away from the truck and away from the action, scrabbling at his comm as the sound of rifle fire filled the night. “This is Tombstone, we have contact! Soldier initiated, the crazy fuckin’--”

“This is Storm, I’m almost in position. What happened to the lights?”

“Fuckin’ hit a transformer, must’ve fucked up the whole grid.” Jesse peeked around another truck, not that it was much use. Only light was what came from the glowing paint on the pickup and the gang members. “I can’t see a god damn thing but Los Muertos paint. It glows so--”

“So that they are never without light,” Hanzo finished. “Good philosophy. Poor tactical sense.”

There was a brief pause on Hanzo’s end, then two gang members a few meters away from Jesse collapsed soundlessly, even though there was a wall between them and the main fight, which meant-- “Did you just fuckin’ kill ‘em with arrows?”

“Yes,” Hanzo said-- and there was definitely pride in his voice. 

“Wait-- did you know I was here?!”

“Focus. Did we accomplish our goals?”

Jesse sucked in a breath, staring at the chaos before him. “Well, leavin’ peacefully is out, obviously.”

“Of course. Did we find out what the weapons are?”

“They only had one load, I don’t know what was in it or if there were more.”

“Can you find out?”

Jesse peeked out from behind the truck again. His eyes had finally adjusted to the dark, and he could see that the fight seemed to be going in Soldier’s favor, with a dozen Los Muertos already downed. No sight of the workers. No sight of Reaper. The pickup truck was almost 200 meters away from him, which wouldn’t be far if there wasn’t a fucking fire fight happening right next to it.

“Sure, it’d be a walk in the park.”

“I will cover you.”

“How can you do that when it’s pitch black?”

“Do not worry, I will only shoot that which glows.”

“That is _not_ comforting,” he grumbled, mentally bracing himself for the mad dash.

He darted across the parking lot, occasionally diving or sliding to the next piece of cover, desperately avoiding the deathly rave of neon skeletons. The scream of rifle fire was constant, the literal screams of people a little more intermittent.

He threw himself against a truck tire, peeking out from behind once he caught his breath. There was a final forty meter sprint to the weapons. 

No cover. 

He’d have to do this in one go. Six seconds. 

Jesse took a deep breath and _ran_. 


	25. Requiem

One. Jesse sprinted away from the safety of the truck.

Two. Errant bullets sent gravel and dust spraying in every direction.

Three. Battle cries and death screams echoed into the night.

Four. He stumbled over a body-- no paint, must’ve been a worker.

Five. His lungs burned with the acrid smell of carbon.

SIX. He skidded low, coming to an abrupt stop next to the pickup. 

Winded, he didn’t waste time catching his breath, vaulting into the truck bed. There wasn’t much space to stand, almost every inch taken up by the giant piñata. Every second he was here was a second exposed, a second where a stray bullet could take him out of the fight. He tore at the paper mache with his hands, pulling it free in huge chunks. He could see the barest bit of metal now and the piñata was coming apart more easily. A large panel ripped free and he could finally recognize what he was looking at.

It wasn’t firearms. Not a pulse rifle. Not a rocket launcher or a barrel of grenades or a crate of C4. It was just one thing. A single bomb. An _EMP_ bomb. 

And it was massive.

Suddenly shivering, Jesse thumbed his comm. “Got visual confirmation. Leavin’ through--”

Someone's agonized scream cut him off, swiftly followed by ecstatic woops from Los Muertos. Four skeletons converged, hovering over a figure like coyotes circling a wounded animal. 

_Shit_.

He had to leave. He _had_ to leave.

⟪We’re gonna have fun with you, asshole!⟫

Soldier brought this on himself.

⟪He’s mine.⟫ A low, garbled voice cut over the excited chatter. Reaper.

⟪You’ll get your turn--⟫ A shotgun cracked in the night, and one of the skeletons fell to the ground, unmoving.

_⟪Mine.⟫_

The other skeletons yelped and skittered a short distance away, leaving nothing between Soldier and Reaper.

Mother fucker.

“Storm, I’m about to do somethin’ stupid.”

“Tombstone?”

In one smooth motion, Jesse unclipped a flash bang grenade and lobbed it over the truck, ducking and squeezing his eyes shut until he saw the flash behind his eyelids. Los Muertos was yelling again, but Reaper was nowhere to be seen when Jesse rounded the pickup and fired three rounds at Los Muertos.

⟪It wasn’t us! It wasn’t us! It wasn’t--⟫ The voice ended with a wet squelch.

Well. Reaper wasn’t on Soldier then. Jesse inched his way forward in the dark, scuffing the ground with his feet, trying to find Soldier.

“Tombstone, what is happening?”

Finally, Jesse’s boot made contact with the give of flesh, and he dropped to his knees, feeling with his hands to confirm, yes, this was Soldier. Another dying scream to his left.

“Soldier’s down, grabbin’ him before they can finish him off. Keep me covered.”

There was blood. There was a _lot_ of blood, but Soldier was still breathing.

“I do not have sights,” Hanzo warned over the comm, tone tense.

There was a whimper from the last Los Muertos goon before another shotgun blast ended it. Jesse tried to pick Soldier up, but the fucker was _heavy_. He let him drop back to the ground, trying to unwrap the massive pulse rifle from Soldier’s hands. No good, either. Soldier had a death grip on it. 

He could hear footsteps and they were getting closer. _Way_ too close. Jesse fired off in the general direction of the sound, hoping to hit Reaper-- but the slow, steady _crunch_ of boots on gravel continued.

“Reload--”

“Tombstone, I _do not have sights_.”

Shit, Hanzo couldn’t see them-- _crunch_\-- Jesse needed light, needed light, light, _light!_ He dug through his pockets-- _crunch_\-- looking for a lighter but his knees slipped in Soldier’s pool of blood, pitching him forward and landing roughly on canisters of-- _crunch_\-- bio emitters? He seized one and popped the tab, slamming it down in the gravel as it activated in a flash of golden light.

“You just gave away your position!” Hanzo hissed.

But it didn’t matter. At the very edge of the circle of light, two metal-capped boots shone. They glinted menacingly as Reaper dropped down into a squat, shotgun level with Jesse’s face.

Reflexively, he fired Peacekeeper, but with no bullets in the chamber it only produced a dull _thunk_. Reaper laughed lowly.

No weapon. No way out. No chance. 

Jesse closed his eyes.

“Haven’t I… killed you somewhere before?”

His eyes snapped open to see Reaper’s mask tilted to the right, shotgun slightly lowered.

“Eh,” The nightmare shrugged. “Suppose it doesn’t matter.” Reaper lifted the shotgun again and Jesse's heart raced as he braced himself for death--

Only for the weapon to be shot out of Reaper’s hands. The creature growled, looking to its left after the shotgun, only for an arrow to sprout from its forehead.

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse breathed, watching as Reaper simply collapsed in place, corpse slightly smoking. “Jesus _fucking _Christ.”

“McCree, _move_.”

Jesse didn’t need to be told twice. He wrapped his arms around Soldier’s torso, dragging him across the ground. It would help if Jesse could unwrap the pulse rifle from the injured man’s arms or even just drop the bandoliers, but he wanted to be as far away from that fucking _thing_ as possible _now._

They barely made it to the gate before the sound of more footsteps reached his ears. His heart sank, not sure if Hanzo could make a shot from this angle--

“Are you injured or is it just Soldier?” Hanzo demanded, running with a case strapped to his back and bow in hand.

“Just him,” Jesse grunted, relief seeming to double the weight in his arms. “He’s fuckin’ heavy.”

Without a word, Hanzo grabbed one of Soldier’s arms and threw it over his shoulder. Jesse did the same, allowing them to move down the street at a much quicker pace.

“Here,” Hanzo said. “Down this alley. Santos is on his way.”

With the adrenaline fading, Jesse was too tired to do much else than obey and stumbled into the alley alongside Hanzo. They propped Soldier in a sitting position against a wall, a dumpster shielding them from the main road.

“This is bad.”

Jesse looked up from where he was bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. “You fuckin’ think?”

Hanzo was crouched in front of Soldier, carefully peeling back layers of fabric. “It looks like he has taken multiple rounds to the chest. I am stunned that he is still breathing. It may be in our best interest to leave--”

Soldier’s hand darted up to grip Hanzo’s arm. “Calle Maravilla. 214. Medical supplies. Safe.” Soldier barked in pain, dropping his hold on Hanzo and wrapping an arm around his gut instead.

Hanzo looked at Jesse.

“What?” Jesse asked.

“It is your call.”

“Shit.” He tapped his comm. “Tracer, is Sunshine almost here?”

“ETA one minute.”

Jesse let his arm fall. “Alright. We wait for Lúcio. Then we go to Soldier’s safe house. Do what we can. Maybe call a local hospital anonymously? Shit, no, Los Muertos will be waiting for that. We’ll just…” He lifted his hat and scraped his hand through his sweaty hair. Leaving Soldier after all of this didn’t sit right and could very well kill him, but taking him back to base would lead to a shitton of complications and possibly expose Overwatch. “We’ll play it by ear.”

Hanzo nodded. “Understood.”

Jesse looked at Soldier bleeding out in the filthy alleyway, propped against a dumpster. “Hold on, you stubborn bastard.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo and McCree trudged down the final stretch of the corridor, both breathing heavily. Not even Santos’ rejuvenating music could overcome the strain in their muscles caused by carrying a fully grown man for nearly half a mile.

“214 is right here,” Santos said, jostling the door handle. “Anyone know how to lock pick?”

“Move,” McCree growled. “Hanzo, hold Soldier.”

Hanzo grunted under the additional weight, but managed to stay standing. His legs shook from exhaustion. He hoped McCree would not take long picking the--

_Crack_.

Hanzo blinked at the broken door swinging on its hinges.

“After you,” McCree said, tipping his hat to Hanzo.

Too tired to complain about such a traceable method of entry, Hanzo took a slow, agonizing step forward.

“Oh, right, lemme help with that.” McCree lifted up Soldier’s other arm and they let themselves into his safe room. “Where do you want him, Lúcio?”

“Just on the bed is fine. I don’t have much on hand, though…” 

They managed to put Soldier on the single-wide bed, though his feet were hanging off the end. McCree almost immediately collapsed in a rickety chair with a groan. “He’s got bio emitters on his belt.”

“Assess him first,” Hanzo directed their medic. “I will look to see if he has supplies on hand.”

Turning on aching feet, Hanzo quickly surveyed the room. Santos had set the door back into place as best he could, although it was clearly beyond repair. There was a short walkway to the main bedroom, where they were now, with a small closet space set into the wall. Hanzo strongly suspected that this was a hotel before its conversion into apartments.

The closet held nothing, not even spare clothes. The chest of drawers held one pair of pants and three shirts, but nothing that could serve as medical supplies. Hanzo eyed the other door in the room. The _only_ door, so it was almost certainly the bathroom and upon opening it, he saw that it was. He did not expect what it contained, however.

Munitions were thrown everywhere. Several pistol magazines rested on the sink, four pulse rifle battery packs in the tub, one box of grenades on the toilet, and-- ah, that must be his medical kit. Hanzo grabbed the cloth bag from its place on the counter. Looking inside he could see sterilized needles, sutures, bandages, and disinfectant all crammed into the main compartment. It would have to do for-- the sound of yelling stole his attention.

On edge, Hanzo exited the bathroom in time for McCree to push past him, shoving him back into the bathroom, and storming out of the room, throwing the door off its hinges again as he left.

“McCree!” He shouted after him. “Where are you going?”

No response.

“Hanzo!” Santos called.

Hanzo rushed into the bedroom, but nothing seemed changed. Soldier still lay unconscious on the bed, though he was now unmasked, and Santos was staring up at him with large eyes. 

“What happened?” He demanded. “Where has McCree gone?”

“I don’t know! I was just checking Soldier over, but-- look! His wounds are already showing signs of healing!”

Sure enough, the wounds that had been bleeding profusely when he first examined them where already beginning to scab over. 

“Isn’t that a side-effect of your music?”

“Not this fast!” Santos said emphatically. “The music should have just slowed the bleeding, he’s got _pink skin_!” He pointed to the edges of the scabs. “Freshly healed while you guys were dragging him!”

That was… _very_ strange, but-- “What does that have to do with McCree?”

“I don’t know!” Santos almost shouted, patting the side of his head distractedly. “I just showed him what I showed you, then he ripped off Soldier’s mask and ran out without saying a word!”

Hanzo glanced at Soldier. He was older than he would have guessed, easily in his fifties judging by the wrinkles in his face and the whiteness of his hair. Soldier wore many scars, one particularly gnarled line slashing across his face, but there was no sign of what had upset McCree.

...Who was now wandering the streets of a city on high alert, with government, Los Muertos, and Talon agents likely combing over the neighborhoods.

Hanzo closed his eyes, feeling a headache beginning to form. “Is he stable?”

“I-- uh, I think so?”

“With _confidence_, Santos.”

Santos swallowed, but steadied. “If he hasn’t died from blood loss so far, I don’t think he’ll die tonight. He probably-- no, _definitely_ still needs a real doctor, though.”

“Call Oxton,” he commanded. “Tell her to pack everything and load up the Lark. Have her call base. We are leaving as soon as possible-- do not let Soldier out of your sight. We will be taking him with us.”

“What about Jesse?” Hanzo strode away from the room, responding over his shoulder. “I’ll handle McCree.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse slammed the door behind him, not caring that the window glass rattled in its pane.

Morrison.

Soldier: 76 was Jack. Fucking. Morrison.

Jesse seized a wrought-iron table and threw it through the courtyard. The metal screeched against the concrete, serving as the scream Jesse wouldn’t voice.

Seven. Years. 

Seven _god damned_ years where he walked free while Jesse lived on the fringes of society, scrounging a living outside the protections of the law. Nearly a decade in which Morrison was mourned, remembered, and enshrined amongst history’s heroes for his ‘sacrifice’. The sacrifice that _Reyes_ made and was vilified for.

Jesus Christ, _Reyes_. Jesse gripped his hair tightly, his hat toppling to the ground. It felt like Reyes was dying all over again. He didn’t deserve this, he did so much for Blackwatch, for _Overwatch_. It was Reyes, not Morrison, that saved the world from the Crisis. Reyes, not Morrison, that accepted command for an organization that would never see glory or even the light of day. It had always been Reyes.

But this time, he got Morrison.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Thankfully, Hanzo didn’t have to look far; McCree was in the apartment complex’s overgrown courtyard. A small circle of destruction surrounded around him, namely some broken chairs and a toppled table. Hanzo paused at the gate, not sure how to approach him in such a state.

“McCree,” Hanzo called softly, not wanting to startle him.

McCree flinched, looking up sharply, eyes wild. Hanzo was stealthy, but he had taken no pains to hide his approach. McCree must be deeply disturbed to not notice.

“What is going on?” He asked, slowly walking closer, not intent on upsetting McCree further.

“You didn’t get a look at him?” McCree asked, voice rough, lip curling.

Hanzo paused. “Soldier?”

“_Morrison_,” McCree snarled.

He frowned. “What?”

“The man in that room,” McCree hissed, jabbing a finger at the apartment building. “The one that didn’t shoot me on sight, the man that I fuckin’ saved from Reaper-- that’s not some nobody. Some vet with a hard on for violence and vigilantism. That is _Jack Morrison_. Strike Commander of Overwatch.”

Hanzo hesitated.

Doubt was his first reaction. Morrison died years ago, with hundreds of other Overwatch agents. Perhaps McCree was mistaken, perhaps he was still battle-crazed, or unnerved from his near-death encounter with the Reaper. But… McCree had proven his worth time and again this mission. He was clearly distressed to a degree Hanzo had not witnessed before, including their confrontation before the truce. The claim may yet prove true.

“I do not understand,” he said carefully. He wanted to ask for clarification, not voice doubt. “How is that possible?”

“Who fuckin’ knows? Just goes to show what I get for believin’ the devil was dead without a body to prove it.” McCree paced the courtyard, growling nonsense and pulling at his hair. 

...He would have to be more pointed in his questions, regardless of his aspiration of trust. “Are you sure it is Morrison?” Hanzo asked slowly.

McCree whirled on him. “Are you sure it’s Genji?” He spat.

Hanzo flinched.

“I don’t know how he fuckin’ survived the Fall,” McCree said angrily, almost shouting. “Maybe he wasn’t even ever at the HQ when it blew up.” His voice dropped in volume as he muttered to himself, apparently forgetting Hanzo was there. Or not caring. “But then why would Reyes be there if Morrison wasn’t? He wouldn’t’ve had the reason or motivation to step foot in Switzerland. Not unless he was told Morrison was there as a false lead--”

McCree stopped abruptly, looking off into the distance. Concerned, Hanzo stepped forward, trying to get a better read on his face.

“I’m gonna kill him.” McCree said suddenly. Hanzo’s stomach dropped at the sight of his glazed eyes.

“McCree-- no, stop!” Hanzo grabbed McCree’s shoulder as he attempted to brush by. McCree twisted in his hold and Hanzo had an unpleasant flashback to the last time he had physically confronted McCree-- but he always learned from his mistakes.

He ducked under McCree’s fist, hooking a leg behind his ankle and jerking it back. McCree toppled and Hanzo followed, forcing McCree onto his stomach and shoving his knee into McCree’s spine. McCree was still struggling, writhing and attempting to push himself up on his hands. Hanzo seized the flesh arm and wrenched it into a figure four arm hold until McCree finally stopped.

“Get the _fuck_ off me, Shimada!” “No!”

“He set it up! Morrison put the bounty on me to lure Reyes in and then he blew it all up! He _deserves _to die!”

Hanzo took the information in stride. Anger did not inspire cool logic; The truth of the situation could not yet be ascertained. “Even if that is true, his death will accomplish nothing.”

McCree struggled against his grip. “You know how many people died in his place? They deserve to be avenged!”

Hanzo twisted his arm a little more. “Tell me you take no personal satisfaction in his death and I will allow it.”

“I don’t!”

“You _lie_.”

“Fuck you, I deserve this! I _need _this!”

“You do not! Get _control _of yourself.”

McCree stilled for a moment, then _thumped_ his forehead on the ground. Hanzo waited, but McCree said nothing.

“I understand your desire for revenge,” he said, breathing a little ragged from exertion. “But this path leads only to more suffering. If you must seek revenge, seek it in unexpected places.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” McCree growled into the ground.

“For you? Do not kill him.”

“Listen, you son of a--”

“He is valuable,” Hanzo interrupted. “Who knows what information or contacts he might have. He tracked Talon independently of us, identified their agents, and was severely injured in the pursuit of stopping them. Does this align with your view of Morrison?”

“...Maybe.”

“And does your desire to kill him outweigh the potential good we can extract through information?”

“... I think I see what you’re drivin’ at.”

“Do you?” Hanzo asked skeptically.

“I’ll kill him after we interrogate him.”

He sighed. As unpleasant as it was, McCree’s snarky attitude was better than a murderous one. “That will have to do for now. If I let you up, will you behave?”

“I dunno, kinda like the position you put me in.”

Hanzo lept back in disgust. McCree stood up, smirking as he picked his hat up from the ground and dusted it off. Of course McCree would resort to such crass methods. Heavens forbid he take anything seriously-- or worse, _professionally_.

“If he is conscious,” Hanzo said with no small amount of irritation. “We can ask him a few questions, but we _are_ taking him to the Watchpoint. He _will _be alive when we arrive at base.”

McCree scrunched his face unhappily. “Sure, guess I can do that.”

Remembering how McCree chose to treat him during his kidnapping, Hanzo felt compelled to add: “And he will be in _no worse_ condition than he is now.”

“Not a problem. He heals fast. Super soldier bullshit. Reyes was the same.”

“McCree, I will--” Hanzo mentally reached for something that would incentivize good behavior, but McCree would only take threats as a challenge, so his best bet was-- “I will cook you whatever meals you like for a week if you behave.”

McCree stared. “Are you _bribin’ me_?”

“I don't know,” Hanzo snapped. “Is it working?”

“...Strangely, yes. Can you make dessert?”

“With the right ingredients,” Hanzo gritted out.

“Alright, it’s a deal.”

McCree stuck his hand out, and Hanzo had the distinct feeling of dread as he shook it. He would certainly regret this. He was coming to regret many deals he had made with McCree.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanzo was more disappointed than pleased to see that Soldier-- Morrison, whichever-- was awake upon their return. McCree chose not to sit, instead leaning against the wall where the light didn’t quite reach. And Genji claimed _he_ had a flair for the dramatic.

“Um, welcome back, guys,” Santos said. “Everything good?”

“Things are in order,” Hanzo replied neutrally. “We will likely depart before the dawn. How is… Soldier?”

“Well, he could be--”

“I’m fine.” Morrison cut across Santos.

He clearly wasn’t, judging by his labored breathing, but Hanzo chose to humor him. “I am glad to hear that. We wish to consolidate our knowledge before departing. McCree, did you discover what it was Los Muertos was trafficking to Talon?”

“Yep. EMP bomb. Big one. Could take out half a city by the looks of it.”

“Los Muertos is capable of building such technology?” Hanzo asked in surprise.

“Los Muertos has connections with one of the most prolific hacking groups in the world,” Morrison said. “It would have been them who made it, then traded it to Los Muertos. Not sure if they knew it would end up with Talon.”

“What could Talon want with an EMP?” Santos asked.

“They’re tryin’ to start another omnic crisis,” McCree reminded him.

“Yes,” Hanzo agreed, explaining for the sake of Morrison. “We suspect the purpose of systematically killing former Overwatch agents is to preempt any attempts to reform it so that a Crisis could fully develop.” “Sounds right,” Morrison said, leaning back on the headboard and closing his eyes.

Hanzo rubbed his shoulder, still sore from carrying Morrison so far. “There is one last piece of information we need to attend to,” he said. “That of your identity.”

“What about it?”

“Oh, fuck off Morrison,” McCree snapped. “Your mask’s off.”

“Morrison?” Santos asked even as Morrison said “Alright.”

McCree stared at him incredulously. “What the f-- alright? _Alright?!_”

Morrison shrugged. “Yeah, you got me. You want a medal?”

“Mother fucker, I’ve been on the run for _years_ cause of the bullshit bounty _you_ put on my head!”

Morrison was beginning to look uncomfortable and… confused? Something wasn’t right here. “Uh, sorry?”

“Oh, you’ll _be_ sorry.”

“McCree,” Hanzo said warningly. “Morrison, what was your purpose in faking your death? Why remain in hiding all these years?”

“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the fuckin’ chance?” McCree butt in.

“Why would I kill you?” Morrison asked, sounding genuinely bewildered.

“Why…?” Confusion covered McCree’s face, and he turned to look at Hanzo. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, you guys lost me _ages_ ago,” Santos piped up.

“We are taking you into custody,” Hanzo said to Morrison. That part of their plan, at least, remained unchanged.

“I’d like to see you try,” Morrison growled, moving to sit up but collapsing halfway up.

“You are in luck, it seems,” Hanzo said dryly. “Not only shall you see us try, I wager you will see us succeed.”

“What happened to you, Morrison?” McCree asked, looking lost. “You were never my favorite person, but after Amari died… and just hiding away from the world like this? The consequences?” He shook his head. “You’d disappoint her.”

“If Amari thinks she could do better,” Morrison said, “She’s welcome to try.”

McCree breathed in sharply. Hanzo looked at him in concern, but instead of hurt or fury, he saw realization. “Reyes would have done a better job, too.”

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have given up the Strike Commander position if he was so interested in how I ran Overwatch.”

“_Shit_.” McCree lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Hanzo looked between him and Morrison, who seemed unsure and wary. “He doesn’t remember a god damn thing.”

“What?” Hanzo and Santos said in unison.

“You don’t, do you?”

Morrison hesitated. “... I remember… some things.”

“You want us to play twenty questions the whole way back to base,” McCree said snidely, “Or you wanna make this easier for all of us?”

Morrison grumbled, but relented. “The earliest memory I have is… I _think _it’s Zurich. Then there’s a lot of gaps. Haven’t had any lapses for over a year, though.”

“Lapses?” Hanzo asked. That did not sound good. Was Morrison mentally stable where his memory was concerned?

“I would… forget things after a while. Blank slate type of deal. Used to be pretty frequent, but I’ve gotten better over the years.”

Hanzo stared at the veteran, aghast. “And you believed yourself to be in a state to pursue Talon like that?”

Morrison shrugged and immediately winced at the movement. “It’s worked so far.”

“Unbelievable,” McCree whispered. While Hanzo was relieved that McCree hadn’t reentered a murderous rage, his current look of utter defeat was not much better.

“We will escort you to the Overwatch base,” He said, realizing they were only wasting time at this point. “You will receive food, housing, and medical treatment until we can sort this matter.”

“And then?” Morrison asked.

McCree spoke up from his corner. “Then Lord help you.”


	26. Reminisce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bit of an angsty chapter

Genji watched with the rest of the small crowd, all eerily silent, as the Lark grew larger and larger on the horizon.

Everyone had come out for this. At the forefront of the group, Winston rubbed his forearms anxiously. Brigitte hovered near Reinhardt, who had sporadically been bursting into tears ever since he learned of Morrison’s survival. Even Bastion waited with them, standing close to Torbjörn and twittering nervously despite Torbjörn’s consoling pats. Genji had his arm wrapped around Angela’s shoulder, somehow anxious for the Lark’s arrival and simultaneously dreading the moment it touched down. Master stood next to him, eyes unwaveringly focused on the Lark.

None of them had been prepared for the news. _He_ had hardly believed it when Jesse told him Jack Morrison lived. Even Winston, who was the only one to put stock in the theory that Soldier: 76 and Morrison were one in the same, received the confirmation with shock rather than joy. Genji had not been particularly close to Morrison in any sense, so he had no trouble adjusting after the initial disbelief, but he knew that this would be hard for most of the team.

The Old Guard, of course, would be welcoming a teammate that had been with them since the Crisis and they would have to grapple with the anger, grief, and sadness that came with that. It wasn’t only them, though. Angela and Jesse especially would be affected. Jesse’s issues with Morrison were mostly an extension of the hatred between Reyes and the Strike Commander, but Angela… she had spent _days_ digging up body after body from the rubble of Zurich Headquarters. Not finding Morrison among the dead had always weighed upon her. His return would be a harsh reminder of that disaster, of the other lives lost in the Fall.

The Lark rotated its engines for a vertical landing, but no one spoke, cheered, or smiled. The engines cut out, but no one moved. The door swung open and no one breathed.

Jesse was the first out. He didn’t even glance at the gathered team, beelining towards his quarters with a blank expression. Genji watched him go, worried, but rooted in place. Lena was next, looking dazed as she went through the motions of completing her external post-flight checks. Then it was Hanzo, guiding a tall, white-haired man.

Morrison.

Angela’s breathing hitched and he rubbed soothing circles on her shoulder. Reinhardt dropped his head into his hands, but to Genji’s surprise, the loudest sniffles came from Torbjörn, his eyes glassy with emotion.

Morrison paused at the sight of the small crowd watching him before ducking his head and looking away. Hanzo nodded at Genji, who returned the gesture, before escorting Morrison away from the team. He’d be bringing Morrison to one of the detention cells on the base, as they agreed in advance, until a room could be set aside for him.

Lúcio was last off the plane, looking thoroughly confused and concerned. Genji could relate.

“I will speak with Lúcio,” Master said from Genji’s side. “Our team will need significant emotional support in the coming days. There will be much work for us.”

“Thank you, Master,” Genji said lowly, not wanting to disturb what felt like a mourning. Master inclined his head and walked away.

“Genji,” Angela said, sounding choked up. His attention instantly focused on her. “I need to go back to my room.”

“Of course,” he said, sliding his arm down to her waist so that they could more easily walk together.

They didn’t quite make it to her room. About halfway there, she hunched over, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed. Genji could do little but hold her, whispering nonsense assurances in both English and Japanese.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to hold it in,” he consoled her, softly guiding her down the walkway. “We’re almost to your room. Just a little further and you can lie down.”

She took a few gasping breaths and unsteadily moved forward.

“That’s it, love, we’re almost there.”

He tapped her passcode in and opened the door for her. Once she was in the entryway, she hesitated, looking lost and pained. His heart twisted in sympathy.

“Here, let’s get you on the couch.” He gently tugged on her hand, one arm hovering at her back in case she became unsteady again, and he lead her to her couch. She sat down roughly, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her face on her knees. Genji watched her. There had to be more he could do for her...

Ah! He knew exactly what would help. First, he found her coffee maker and turned it on, waiting until it began to percolate before moving on to his next task, darting from room to room digging up every blanket and pillow Angela had squirreled away in her quarters. If there wasn’t enough, he’d go to his room and raid every supply closet the Watchpoint had until she was warm and happy. He wrapped them around her, layer after layer, until she nearly disappeared under the mountainous cocoon. She looked up at him, eyes and nose red.

...Some tissues wouldn’t be remiss. He found those in the bathroom and placed it in easy reach. In the kitchen, the coffee machine beeped, and he filled a mug with piping hot liquid. If he was lucky, she would still have-- yes! There was chocolate milk in the door of her fridge. She saved it for bad days and he would say this definitely counted. He poured a healthy amount into her mug before bringing it out.

She took it from him, cradling the cup in her hands and withdrawing further into her blanket nest.

“Is that better?” He asked.

Angela nodded.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

She sniffled, only a small strip of her face visible beneath all the blankets. “Fruit?”

Fruit? He hadn’t seen any in her fridge. “Do you have any here?”

She shook her head.

“That’s alright, I’ll go get some from the kitchen.” He leaned over her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll be right back.”

Genji left Angela’s quarters at a light jog. The base was unusually empty of activity. Everyone must have retreated indoors after the Lark’s arrival. He could only imagine how everyone else was coping. Maybe he should check on Jesse...

He didn’t expect anyone to be in the kitchen, especially at this time of day, so Genji had to stop in surprise when he found Hanzo inside with a wide assortment of cooking utensils and ingredients. Hanzo glanced up from his preparations.

⟪Genji. Are you well?⟫

⟪Well enough,⟫ He replied, opening the fridge and withdrawing a box of strawberries. ⟪I never thought that cooking was a form of stress relief for you.⟫

Hanzo shrugged. ⟪It is not, but it appears that eating is stress relief for McCree.⟫

While that was true, Genji couldn’t figure out what that had to do with Hanzo. ⟪I don’t follow.⟫

His brother sighed. ⟪It appears that Morrison’s return is a very emotionally charged event for Overwatch. McCree is no exception.⟫

Well, of course it would upset Jesse. Morrison was a man that Jesse hated and loathed since their earliest days. Of all the people who Jesse might want back from the dead, Morrison would last on the list-- if he even made the list. Genji could just as easily imagine Jesse shoving Morrison back in the grave he crawled out of. Not much would make Jesse feel better about the situation, other than-- ohhhhhhhh. Food. Food that Hanzo was making. Right.

⟪So you bribed him to not kill Morrison?⟫ Genji asked. ⟪Or to not injure him?⟫

⟪At first, the second. It was a long flight, however.⟫

He grimaced in sympathy.

Hanzo nodded at the box of fruit Genji held. ⟪For Dr. Zeigler?⟫

⟪Yes.⟫

⟪I was not aware that she was close to Morrison. I could say the same of McCree, for that matter.⟫

⟪She idolized him a bit, I think.⟫ He explained, washing the fruit as he talked. ⟪He was her boss a few times removed so she didn’t have daily interaction with him. Like most of the world, she only knew his public persona, the one dedicated to peace. She spent… many hours, searching for him at Zurich.⟫

Hanzo hummed ⟪Judging by his reaction, I assume it was not the same for McCree.⟫

Genji snorted, putting the freshly washed strawberries in a bowl. ⟪Jesse has hated Morrison for as long as I’ve known him. He had a different reason every time I asked about it. Eventually I stopped asking.⟫

⟪Hm.⟫

Genji glanced at Hanzo to see him playing with a knife, reflecting light off its blade. That old habit took him back... ⟪You are plotting, brother.⟫

⟪I am reflecting,⟫ Hanzo corrected. ⟪Morrison has upset the team’s balance. I am worried.⟫

⟪The drama will pass.⟫

⟪Perhaps. What damage will he incur in the meantime?⟫

Genji thought of Angela, buried in her blankets and grief. ⟪It is hard to say.⟫

There was a brief moment of quiet before Hanzo spoke. ⟪After you bring the fruit to Dr. Zeigler, would you check on McCree?⟫ Hanzo gestured at the dinner plate. ⟪You can bring him his meal. I… do not think he would appreciate my company as much as yours.⟫

⟪Oh, really?⟫ he teased. ⟪_He_ would take issue with _your_ company?⟫

Hanzo shook his head in exasperation.

Honestly, he felt conflicted. Angela needed him, of course, but Jesse didn’t have someone to look after him and he was likely just as upset as Angela. If Hanzo and Jesse weren’t so dead set on hating each other, he’d ask his brother to do it instead. But… Angela would understand. Jesse was important to her, too. She wouldn’t be angry if he took the time to check on him. Confident in his decision, he took the plate from Hanzo. ⟪This was very thoughtful of you, Brother, thank you.⟫

⟪I am merely doing my part. I will be making food for Morrison next. Would you like me to cook for you and Dr. Ziegler?⟫

⟪Thank you for the offer, but I think Angela will want take out tonight.⟫

⟪Very well. Let me know if you change your mind.⟫

⟪I will,⟫ Genji said, ducking out of the kitchen. He’d return to Angela first and let her know his plan. It wasn’t as quick a journey as the first time, balancing Jesse’s dinner and Angela’s fruit, but all told he didn’t think he had been gone for more than fifteen minutes by the time he made it back to her rooms.

He knocked before opening the door just so he wouldn’t catch her unawares, but it turned out to be a useless gesture. Angela was passed out on the couch, still wrapped in a multitude of blankets, tissues on the floor and an empty mug in front of her.

Careful not to disturb her, he quickly collected her trash and returned the empty mug to the kitchen, leaving a large glass of water in its place. He put the fruit on the table, too, and quickly scribbled out a note.

> _Angela,_
> 
> _ Going to check on Jesse. Water and fruit on the table, will be back soon!_
> 
> _xoxo,_  
Genji

She didn’t stir even as he left her apartment. Once outside, he took a deep breath. One loved one safely burrito-wrapped, one to go.

It was a shorter trip to Jesse’s rooms than it had been to the kitchen. Genji knocked on his door, not really expecting a response. Jesse had a long history of shutting down when he got too overwhelmed. No answer. Genji wasn’t surprised, but it didn’t matter. It had only been a courtesy; He’s known the codes to Jesse’s rooms for more than a decade now. Tapping the pin rewarded him with a green light and an unlocking _click_, but when he opened the door to a dark room he second-guessed himself. Maybe Jesse wasn’t in his room at all? Maybe he was on the roof or in the shooting range instead-- but then there was a shift of movement inside and Genji closed the door behind him.

Jesse was sitting on the floor, back braced on his bed, wrapped in his red serape, cradling a bottle of whiskey and staring sightlessly at a wall. A pang lanced through Genji’s chest, seeing the miserable expression on his best friend’s face. He rubbed it subconsciously. What a lovely day this was shaping up to be.

Gently sitting next to Jesse, he offered the plate of food. “Hanzo sent this.”

Jesse grunted, not looking at him or the plate.

“I’ll just set it here for when you’re ready.”

He removed his faceplate while they sat together in silence.

This was okay. Words weren’t necessary. They had both played supporter and supported before. Sometimes the simple presence of a trusted friend was enough. Genji let his eyes wander in the meantime.

Jesse’s room was fairly bare, so there wasn’t that much to occupy his attention with. That was to be expected, he supposed. Genji didn’t have many belongings, either, but that was more an expression of the life philosophy he developed in Nepal. In contrast, there was an emptiness to the walls that suggested Jesse had never truly settled into his new room. Or his new life. Maybe Genji could help Jesse paint the walls, make it a little more cheerful. More homey. Less… temporary.

Genji glanced at Jesse, noticing for the first time that the bottle in his hand was already half empty. “You did not drink all of that since you returned?” He asked in concern.

Jesse blinked down at the bottle with surprise, as if he didn’t know he’d been holding it. “No. I don’t drink this.” “Then what…?”

Jesse handed the bottle over wordlessly. Genji turned it over in his hands to read the label. _Jackass Whiskey: Kicks like a Mule!_

Ah.

“Do you mean to tell me that for the entire time you were on the run, you had this bottle on you?”

Jesse nodded, voice monotone when he spoke: “Yup.”

“Why not just buy another?” He asked. “I cannot imagine it was easy keeping this intact.”

“Wasn’t. Expensive, though.”

“I see.” Genji turned the bottle over in his hand.

It was only supposed to be a gag gift. Reyes had given it to Jesse right before the two of them transferred to Overwatch. ‘Won’t need to drink this every night now that you two assholes are gone,’ he had said.

“When do you drink it?”

“Never,” Jesse said, voice still flat. “It’s for Reyes. Day of the Dead. It’s a whole… thing.” Jesse rubbed his hand over his face. “_Shit_.”

No avoiding it now. Might as well get it over with. “So. Morrison.”

“Jack fuckin’ Morrison,” Jesse agreed, though there was no life behind his words.

“He doesn’t remember… anything?”

“Pretty much. He tried to fake his way through his answers. Told him Amari would be disappointed. Know what he said?”

“What?”

“That she was welcome to try.”

Genji leaned away in surprise. “Wow.”

“Tell me about it. Overwatch’s last hope died with her and Morrison knew that.” Jesse twirled the whiskey bottle in his hand. “But you know, I thought there was a chance he was just bein’ flip. That he didn’t kill me cause he just didn’t care about me. Which-- yeah, fair. His actions might’ve had huge repercussions on my life, but Morrison was never one to worry about something as inconsequential as _people_. So I told him that Reyes would’ve done a better job. Know what he said to _that_?”

Oh, that was easy. Morrison always said the same thing to that. “That Overwatch would be just as dirty as Blackwatch if he did?”

“Nope. Said Reyes shouldn’t have retired from the Strike Commander position.”

“Shit,” he breathed. “He really doesn’t remember.”

“Yeah. It’s weird man. First I thought there was no way he was Morrison, then he _was_, and now he’s not. I mean… same body, but not the same mind.”

“He’s different than before?” Genji asked curiously.

“Well… no, not really. Still an ass. But he doesn’t _remember_ anything. What’s a person but the sum of their memories?”

“So if I hit my head and forgot everything, I would no longer be me? You would no longer be my best friend?”

“No--” Jesse pulled a face. “I mean… maybe…”

Genji slapped a hand over his heart. “I’m crushed!”

“Hush, you,” Jesse said, pushing against him with his shoulder. “Of course I’d still be your best friend, but that doesn’t mean you’d still feel the same way about me. And if you wanted nothin’ to do with me, I’d have to respect that.”

“Soooo you will respect the ways that Morrison’s changed?”

Jesse made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, glaring at Genji. “But what about all the shit he’s done? To me? To others? He’s fucked over a lot of people. Does he get off the hook just cause he don’t remember it?”

Genji shrugged. “I suppose that depends on your perspective of justice. Is it enough to make them suffer as others have suffered? Or is it better to accept a reformed person and have them work to make the world better?”

Jesse squinted at him before turning away. “You know, I remember a time where you woulda said ‘just kill him’.”

“A time when happiness was rare for me. I do not think the two qualities are unrelated.”

“Zenyatta must be proud,” and now Jesse sounded bitter. “Tamin’ a feral animal like you.”

Genji gave his best imitation of Hanzo’s offended huffs. “At best, I am house broken.”

_That _got Jesse to laugh. Loud, belly-deep guffaws. Genji smiled, happy that Jesse was recovered enough to laugh. He was already brainstorming more Hanzo impressions when a beep from his visor alerted him to a new message and he checked his inbox.

**♥ Guardian Angel ♥ **  
>in the medbay for jack’s medical assessment  
>message me when you’re done at COWBOY’s  
>COWBOY  
>verdammt  
>COWBOY  
>j e s s e  
>did you change my phone settings again

“That’s a face of regret if I’ve ever seen one,” Jesse observed, still chuckling.

Genji winced. “I… may have forgotten that I changed a few settings in Angela’s phone.”

“Not taking it well?”

**♥ Guardian Angel ♥ **  
>Genji i’m going to FUCK you  
>Genji!!!  
>you did not!!  
>replace the word FUCK  
>  
>  
>you’ll pay for this Spätzli <3

“Oh no.” Dread poured over him like icy water. He was in _so _much trouble.

“Should I order a flower arrangement?”

Should he message her back? Or would he just dig a deeper grave for himself? “I thought we agreed on fireworks?” He asked distractedly.

“Yeah,” Jesse said. “_In _the flowers. They go off as they lower your coffin.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Better to accept his fate. She told him to message her when he left Jesse’s, so that’s what he’d do. He didn’t even remember what words he changed, so the less she texted him, the better.

Beside him. Jesse leaned back, thumping his head on his mattress. “It’s just not fair,” he complained.

Genji wasn’t sure what Jesse meant, exactly, but that wasn’t going to stop him from talking. “I’m sure you’ll get your very own Angela soon,” Genji consoled him. “Hanzo certainly gives enough death threats to fit the bill.”

“Ugh!” Genji laughed at the revolted look on Jesse’s face. “Why would you _say _that?!”

“So I could see your marvelous reaction,” Genji teased. “Sorry, what specifically isn’t fair?”

“That Morrison’s alive,” Jesse said, liquid sloshing in the bottle as he waved it. “Of all the people who could have cheated death and get a second chance… it’s this guy? Not Reyes? LaCroix? _Amari_? It’s just… not fair.”

Genji hummed, not sure what to say to that. “I suppose,” he ventured. “That it is better that one got the chance than none?”

“Dunno about that,” Jesse said with a frown. “Not everyone deserves a chance.”

“Everyone deserves a chance,” Genji argued.

“And forgiveness?”

“That, too.”

Jesse shook his head. “There are unforgivable crimes, Genji. Sometimes there’s just no way to get clean of your past.” He picked at his faceplate, thinking. “Perhaps I am so eager to believe everyone deserves forgiveness so I can believe I deserve it, too.”

“Wantin’ to kill your brother for killin’ you first ain’t so terrible.”

“If I had not pushed him to that point, I might agree with you.”

There was a _clink_ as Jesse set the bottle on the floor. Genji turned to see Jesse staring at him intently.

“Why haven’t you told me what happened? You used to always describe it as unprovoked. Now you’re always makin’ hints that it wasn’t one-sided. What gives?”

He should have expected this. Of course Jesse would call him out on his equivocating. You could only dangle the truth in front of someone so many times before they demanded a real answer, but this was not his truth to share. All he could do was hedge once more. “I was always as honest with you as I was with myself.”

“So, not at all,” Jesse concluded.

“Yup!”

“And now?”

“It’s… not entirely my story to tell,” he said uncomfortably.

“Ain’t it somethin’ _you_ did?”

“Yes. I…” He _really_ didn’t want to say anything. Sharing secrets that weren’t his was exactly what led to the whole situation. But maybe… he could tell Jesse the gist of it, without going into details. “I took advantage of something Hanzo told me in confidence. It resulted in someone he cared about dying. I will not be any more specific than that.”

He could see Jesse chew the inside of his cheek as he thought the answer over. “If that’s as far as you wanna get into it, I won’t push ya. Thanks for tellin’ me what you did.”

Genji let out the breath he was holding. “Of course.”

“...still don’t think _everyone_ deserves a chance.”

“What’s the worst someone can do?” Genji asked, wiggling his brows. “Live up to your expectations?”

“They can always exceed my expectations.”

“Wait-- would that be doing very good things or very bad things?”

“I’d probably be upset either way,” Jesse admitted.

“That _does _explain your feelings towards Hanzo.”

Jesse glared at him half-heartedly. “You’ve already told that joke.”

“And yet it is still funny!”

“You’re the _worst_.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah, you little shit.” Jesse ruffled his hair, pitching him forward a bit as Genji futilely resisted. “Why don’t you go bother Doc?”

Genji freed himself from Jesse’s grasp and gave him a searching look. He didn’t want to leave Jesse if he was still hurting. “Will you be okay?”

Jesse stood up, knees cracking. “Yeah, I guess.” He put the whiskey bottle on a high shelf. “Shit. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Genji remained silent, not feeling reassured until Jesse picked up the food Hanzo had made and began eating.

“See?” He asked, chewing obnoxiously. “Fine.” Jesse paused, looking down at the plate in surprise. “Oh _god,_ what is this? It’s so good!”

Genji just laughed.

In between bites, Jesse said: “You know he actually tried to bribe me with cooking?”

“What do you mean, _tried_? I see evidence of success.”

“What was I gonna do, say _no_? Have you had this man’s cookin’?” He took another bite. “He’s not so bad, all considered.”

“Lucky that we gave him another chance, hm?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Genji peeked his head into the med bay. “Angela?”

“Here, Spätzli,” her voice echoed out from her office.

He approached cautiously, not sure if she was still upset about her phone. She seemed absorbed in her work though, crouched over a series of images, and didn’t spare him a glance when he entered. Safe! For now, at least.

“We took brain scans,” she said, still not looking up. “Because I suspected… I didn’t expect to be right.”

“Are you sure you want to discuss this with me?” He asked. Angela took patient confidentiality seriously. He didn’t want her to say something she’d later regret.

She straightened, lifting her arms high in a stretch. “John asked me to share his condition with the team,” she explained. “He believes it’s the responsible thing to do. Probably hopes that it’ll save him some questions, too.”

“John?”

“Morrison,” she clarified. “He’s been going by John Doe for over a year. Coincidence that it happens to be his birth name.”

Huh. How strange. “I remember he once put an agent on extra duty for two weeks because they called him John instead of Jack.”

Angela nodded, unsurprised. “He suspended a nurse for it once.”

“Things change, it seems.”

“Yes. Things change.” She took a deep breath. “He had extensive brain damage. It’s incredible that he has a working memory at all. I believe it’s the super soldier serum that’s protected and healed him to this point. Normally, it’s not possible to regenerate brain cells.”

“So… one day he _will_ remember everything?”

“No.” She paused, a considerate look on her face. “At least, I strongly believe he won’t. Retrograde amnesia is not something that heals. All the memories that he had before the time he sustained the injury-- before the Fall-- those are gone. He might remember bursts of information of the time since then, but that’s not particularly likely either. From his personal account, it appears he has had bouts of anterograde amnesia, but the timing of them suggests that he will experience fewer and fewer as time goes on. He may forget less instead of a total reset. He may not forget at all.” She shrugged. “It’s not something that has a precedent. Were it not for the serum, I’m sure he would have died at Zurich.”

So the mystery of the Fall of Overwatch endured. Maybe they could piece together information from after the Fall and recreate the circumstances leading up to it? Hm. The anterograde amnesia would get in the way of that, though.

“He doesn’t even have a full memory of what’s happened the last seven years, then?”

She nodded. “That appears to be the case.”

“What happened at Zurich though?” He asked, perching himself on the counter. “I mean, I know he won’t know what lead up to it, but what about after? How did he survive without a memory? How did he survive every time his memory lapsed? Where was he that no one recognized him?”

She shoved her hands in the pocket of her lab coat. “I don’t know. We’ll need to compile a list of questions to ask him. Have someone record his responses.”

Genji watched her carefully, observing the newly-returned dark circles under her eyes and the puffiness of her face. “Are _you_ okay?”

A shrug. “As can be expected. It has been an... emotional day for all of us.”

“It has. They shouldn’t have made you examine Morrison.”

She rubbed an eye. “He had multiple gunshot wounds that needed immediate treatment. A delay would’ve meant surgery, given how fast he heals. Neither Lúcio nor Zenyatta could have helped him. I don’t blame them for calling me in.”

“Still…”

“We all do what we must. How is Jesse, by the way?”

Genji compared Jesse at the beginning of his visit to the end. “Better,” he decided. “We will have to keep an eye on him, though. Hanzo might help.” He opened his arms wide and beckoned Angela forward.

“Really?” She asked, stepping into his embrace. “Your brother would do that willingly?”

“Above almost all else,” he said into her hair, “Hanzo values order. He wouldn’t want Jesse to kill Morrison.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” She sighed and he rubbed her back comfortingly. “I haven’t seen anyone other than John and Winston since they landed.”

“Winston okay?”

“Overwhelmed, I think.” She gently broke the embrace, moving to put away her files. “You’re really not supposed to meet your heroes.”

Genji watched from his perch as she made the final rounds in her office. She worked so hard. Always putting the needs of the many in front of herself, no matter the personal cost. It was one of the many things he admired about her. It was okay if she forgot to take care of herself sometimes-- Genji would always be there to remind her.

He hopped off the counter and wrapped an arm around her waist once she had locked up her filing cabinet. “Do you want to cuddle on your couch, watch family films, and eat swiss chocolate for the rest of the night?”

She sagged against him. “Oh, _absolutely_.”


	27. Realize

“Here.”

Jesse took the paper bag from Hanzo, not breaking stride as he tested its weight. Somewhat heavy, pleasant aroma. “What is it?” He asked as they walked away from Winston's lab.

“Dessert.”

A grin stretched over his face. “Before noon? You’re spoilin’ me.”

Hanzo huffed. “Just because I give them to you does not mean you must eat them immediately. Show some restraint.”

“‘Round your cookin’? I don’t think so.” 

Jesse opened the bag to find it absolutely stuffed with mochi. Which was a... minor disappointment, because the rice cake treats needed special equipment to make, equipment Jesse _knew_ the base didn't have. Beggars can't be choosers, though. So they weren’t homemade, so what? They’d still be delicious. 

“Where did you buy mochi around here?” He asked, taking one out and popping it into his mouth. Oh! Filled with red bean paste. He _loved_ red bean paste.

“I made them.”

Jesse coughed, trying to dislodge prematurely-swallowed mochi from his throat. “You what? Don’t you need a bunch of special equipment to make these?”

“I would not say ‘a bunch’.”

“But you do need _some_. Where--" Internet, obviously, better question was-- "When the hell did you get mochi-makin’ supplies?”

“I ordered them shortly after Genji’s return from Antarctica. He," Hanzo paused, then hurriedly muttered out the rest. "Likes the ones with strawberries.”

“Awww. What a good older brother.”

“Shut up.”

Jesse popped another mochi in his mouth, humming in delight. “I’m allowed to bring these in with me, right?”

“I cannot imagine anyone telling you no.”

“Other than you, you mean.”

“Why would I forbid it? I am the one who gave them to you.”

“I dunno, you don’t think it’s unprofessional to bring food to an interrogation?”

“Consolidating information is hardly the same as an interrogation,” Hanzo sniffed.

Jesse chuckled. “Dunno why you didn’t go into politics. You’re great at dodging questions.”

“The Yakuza life is essentially political," Hanzo said, opening the door to the detention cells. "My clan ran an entire city.”

“More cutthroat, though, yeah?”

Hanzo laughed humorlessly. “No, not at all.”

“Huh.” Jesse paused at the steel door to the room Morrison was in. “So is that a yay or nay to bringin’ my mochi in?”

“Will you be sharing?”

“With you?” He didn't want to, but Hanzo _did_ make them, so he supposed--

“With Morrison.”

Oh. “No.”

“Then leave the bag here.”

Jesse hesitated, looking between the bag and the cold floor.

“McCree," Hanzo warned impatiently.

Jesse hugged the bag close to his chest. “Fine, I’ll give him _one_. If I leave ‘em out here, Genji might nab the whole thing.”

“A wise decision.” 

Jesse couldn't tell if Hanzo was being sarcastic or not, but really, what would the difference be? 

"For clarification,” Hanzo continued, “since Winston afforded us little time to prepare, _I _will lead the questioning. I do not need your interference."

"Just stand there and look pretty, then? Got ya covered."

"I am sure you will have no issue with the standing aspect."

"_Rude_."

Hanzo pushed open the door and Jesse mentally braced himself for the inevitable headache this meeting would give him. Morrison sat on one side of a metal table, slouched and arms crossed. His mask was off, nothing to shield his ugly, scowling mug from the world. Jesse scowled back.

“Good morning, Mister Morrison,” Hanzo said politely, sitting in one of the two chairs opposite Morrison. Jesse leaned against the door, popping another mochi into his mouth. Hanzo gave him a decidedly unimpressed glance. “You’ve met us both before, but for the sake of formality, I am Hanzo and this is Jesse McCree. We will be asking you a series of questions related to your life since the Fall of Overwatch. I recognize that you may not remember everything, but we would greatly appreciate your most detailed and honest account.”

Morrison grunted.

“Is there a manner of address you prefer?” Hanzo asked, donning his reading glasses and looking at his tablet.

“Morrison’s fine. Gotta get used to it eventually.”

“Very well, Mister Morrison,” Hanzo said as he took notes. “First, I'd like to ask how you found your accommodations last night?"

Jesse grumbled to himself. They should've put Morrison in the clink overnight rather than give him is own room. Winston wouldn't hear it, though.

"Good enough," Morrison said.

Hanzo waited, but Morrison offered no follow up. "In that case, there are a few ways we can proceed. We can ask questions of you and you respond with answers; You can state your narrative and then we can ask follow-up questions; Or we can blend these models and ask you questions as necessary during your narrative.”

“First one.”

If Jesse hadn’t been training himself to notice and interpret Hanzo’s body language, he would have missed the twitch of eyebrow that signified annoyance. …Should he be proud or pissed that Morrison irritated Hanzo before he could?

“As you wish," Hanzo said in a clipped tone. "Your name is John Francis Morrison. Have you always known this was your name?”

“No.”

The silence stretched. Jesse ate another mochi.

“When did you discover it as your name?”

“A year, year and a half ago.”

This time, Hanzo didn't wait for details. “What did you go by before that?”

“John Doe.”

A quick scribble on his tablet. “So you identified yourself as John Doe for approximately six years. Is that accurate?”

“Probably. Only remember past two years.”

“I see. And what is your condition regarding your memory?”

“That Ziegler woman--" Jesse growled at the disrespectful form of address for Doc "--said it was a lot of brain trauma that caused the amnesia. Apparently having several tons of concrete collapse on you isn’t healthy. Who would’ve guessed.”

Hanzo hummed noncommittally. “You remember nothing from before the Fall?”

“Nothing before waking up in a burning building," Morrison drawled.

“But you remember everything since?”

For the first time that day, Morrison lost a little of his bluster, his confidence wilting. Jesse happily nibbled on his mochi. “No. I used to… lapse somewhat often.”

“How often?”

“Dunno,” he said, looking frustrated. “Every couple months?”

“To what degree were these lapses?”

“Total. I wouldn’t remember anything.”

“Hold on," Jesse interrupted, earning a glare from Hanzo. "How would you remember these lapses if each one was blank slate? Did you get some of those memories back?”

“No," Morrison said. "It’s just what my... caregiver told me.”

“Caregiver?” Hanzo pressed.

“Yes.”

Hanzo sighed and removed his glasses to rub at the notches on his nose. “This would be much easier for all of us if you volunteered information.”

“Fine," Morrison growled. "My earliest memory was spring of 2050. I’ve been keeping journals between lapses to keep track of events, so I have record of my memory going back to 2045. For as long as I’ve had those journals, I had a... caregiver, for lack of a better phrase. Apparently, she found me wandering the streets one day and took me in as an act of charity. 

"Last September,” Morrison leaned forward on his forearms. “For the first time, I _remembered_. It was Zurich, after it blew up. It was the best lead I ever got on my past and did some digging.” He shook his head. “Didn’t much like what I found. Turns out I’m Commander Jack Morrison, presumed dead commander of Overwatch. Read into all the sordid details of the guy’s life. He was a right asshole. I’m not interested in repeating his mistakes.”

“Repeating _your_ mistakes,” Jesse corrected.

“You refer to Jack Morrison as another person,” Hanzo said, smoothly wresting back control of the conversation. “Do you not consider yourself to be him?”

“No. I just happen to have his body.”

“I see. Can you elaborate on your caregiver?”

“Yeah.” Morrison’s brows furrowed. “I… don’t remember much.”

“Was your caregiver not present after your most recent lapse?”

“No, I… She was definitely there. Her name was… Fa… Tima?”

“Tima?” Hanzo asked.

“No," Morrison said, sounding much surer. "One word: Fatima." His frowned deepened. "I don’t know why it’s not easier to remember.”

“Dr. Zeigler did warn that you might have imperfections in your memory due to your condition," Hanzo offered. "Even if they are not total resets, as you called them.”

“I guess,” He grunted. “Weird thing is, I remember what I wrote about her more than I remember _her_.”

“Convenient,” Jesse drawled.

“Doesn’t seem convenient to me," Morrison snapped. "She always carried herself like someone who knew more than she should. If we could find her, she might be able to tell us a lot.”

“About what?" Jesse asked. "How grouchy you are? What time you took your meds?”

Morrison glowered at him. Maybe now was a good time to give him that one mochi? “For one, she could tell me how I started in Switzerland and ended up in Egypt.”

Hanzo perked up. “Egypt?”

“That’s what I wrote,” he said defensively. “I definitely remember a very dry environment and Arabic. Doesn’t really narrow down much of the Middle East, but the only thing I’ve been able to consistently rely on is my journals.”

“How long were you in Egypt?”

“I have no idea. My early records are really sporadic. Based on my handwriting, I’d say it took a while to relearn how to hold a pen.”

Okay, _that_ deserved a mochi. Jesse pushed off from the wall and walked to the table, dropping a single mochi in front of Morrison, who didn’t even have the grace to say ‘thank you’.

“So, let me get this straight,” Jesse said, returning to his post on the wall. “You experienced such a total episode of amnesia that you couldn’t remember your own name, ended up in Egypt with no idea of how you got there, and couldn’t even write-- all while lookin’ _just like_ Jack Morrison. You’re tellin’ me _no one_ in whatever city or village you were livin’ in recognized you?”

“How would I know?" Morrison asked, poking the mochi like he expected it to be poison. "Everything I know comes from my journals and none said I got recognized.”

Jesse shook his head. “This whole thing stinks. Fatima is my number one suspect right now.”

"I do find it strange that she housed you for such an extended period of time," Hanzo agreed. "Did she never attempt to find your relations?"

"She… _said_ she tried finding my family," Morrison said slowly, rolling the mochi in his hands. "But I guess it was hard since she didn't even know what country I was from or anything else.” He looked up suddenly. “Do I _have_ relations?”

Jesse and Hanzo shared a glance, but Morrison spoke again before either could answer. 

“Actually, don’t tell me. I wouldn’t even recognize them if I did. Would probably just put them in more danger with Talon around.” He looked at his mochi. “So. Fatima. Honestly, I don’t know how hard she tried to find relatives. I think she got used to my company." He huffed a laugh. "Lonely old widow."

"Still think it's suspect," Jesse grumbled.

Morrison frowned. “Fatima is a Crisis widow. She lost one of her kids in service to Overwatch and had a falling out with the other one." He sniffed the mochi experimentally and took a bite. "The only thing I suspect her of is keeping my identity from me and even then I think she had good intentions.”

“Because good intentions justify that?” Jesse asked skeptically.

Morrison leaned forward on his forearms, voice low. “If you were me, would _you_ want to know what a shithead you were in a past life?”

Jesse rolled his eyes, but… Would he? Forgetting the shit he'd done would be more of a blessing than anything, especially before Blackwatch…

"Whatever." Jesse closed up the mochi bag. "A few minutes ago you couldn’t remember her name, but now you can give us a bio of her life?”

“I don’t choose what I can remember!” Morrison growled.

“_Forgive_ my interruption," Hanzo said. "But I am curious. You say that she lost a child in service to Overwatch and that you also believed she concealed your true identity. Does that mean she had a positive outlook on Overwatch?”

Morrison slowly leaned back in his chair. “I’d say neutral to disdainful, depending on what part of its history you were talking about. Far as I could tell, she considered caring for me an exercise of forgiveness.”

“No shit!" Jesse laughed. "That woman must be a livin' saint to put up with your shit for six years.”

“I believe we’ve exhausted this line of questioning. Unless you believe we could uncover some decades long conspiracy?” Hanzo asked Jesse. He resisted the urge to flip him off and just shrugged. Hanzo turned back to Morrison. “Why were you in Dorado?’

“I may not really be Morrison, but _someone’s_ got to own up to his mistakes." Morrison popped the rest of his mochi into his mouth, practically swallowing whole. What trash. Absolute disrespect of the culinary arts. "Figure it might as well be me," Morrison continued. "Didn’t know that Overwatch was back from the dead, too.”

“What does Morrison’s mistakes have to do with Dorado?” Hanzo asked.

“At this point, I’m not even sure I could tell you. It’s been a long road of breadcrumbs. At first I was only investigating LumériCo in a general sense, because that’s where my research led me. I was going all over Mexico, but then I latched on to Los Muertos so I ended up in Dorado. Finding out about Talon was an accident, but I’m pretty sure they’re the reason the breadcrumbs exist. Lucky they happened to be working with Los Muertos.”

“Wasn’t so lucky that you started a fight before we could get all the information we needed, huh?” Jesse asked. “Now we know that Talon’s got a big-ass EMP bomb, but no idea what they’re gonna do with it.”

“King’s Row,” Morrison said as if it were obvious. Jesse and Hanzo stared. “The Omnic Rights Summit is being held in King’s Row, London in a week. It’s the perfect target.”

“Do we know that this is their target with any certainty?” Hanzo said with appropriate concern.

“It's what was on the shipping label.”

Jesse balked. “The _what_?”

“It was on the bomb. Stickered on the outside.”

“That seems," an array of interesting expressions flit across Hanzo's face as he no doubt struggled to find a word that encompassed his horror. "Sloppy.”

Jesse snorted. “They hid the bomb in a fuckin’ piñata, I don’t think Los Muertos is the pinnacle of professionalism.”

Hanzo set his tablet down and steepled his hands. “This is dire. An EMP capable of putting a small city offline detonating in the heart of London?”

“Hell, you wanna talk about flash points?” Jesse tipped his hat back. “King’s Row is where Tekhartha Mondatta was assassinated a few years ago. There’s an entire underground omnic ghetto under there. Both symbolically and logistically, it’s significant to omnics the world over and an EMP would kill thousands.”

“An instant global civil war,” Hanzo agreed. “It’s a master stroke."

“A shortcut to the next Omnic Crisis,” Jesse finished. “Shit.”

“It does seem tailor-made as a catalyst,” Hanzo observed.

Jesse's attention snapped onto him. “You think they’ve been plannin’ this from the start?”

“Hard to say when the 'start' may have been. However, we do know who assassinated Mondatta.”

“Widowmaker. _Talon_," Jesse realized. "Mother _fucker_.”

“Quite.”

Jesse did some quick math in his head. “That means we’ve only got a week to prepare for this-- shit. _Shit_.”

“Urgency does seem warranted," Hanzo agreed. "Mister Morrison, I’d like to thank you for your cooperation. Is there anything else you’d like for us to know?”

He shook his head. “No, but I’ve got a question: what are you planning on doing with me?”

Hanzo paused in collecting his tablet. “There have been several proposed courses of action. We can return you to Dorado or--”

“I want to join.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re in the fight I started. Going after Talon?" Morrison tapped the table. "I want in.”

“Sorry," Jesse said, opening the door and waiting for Hanzo. "We don’t have any positions available for ‘old men too angry to die’.”

Hanzo removed his glasses and rubbed his nose. “We’ll bring the matter up to Winston. It will ultimately be his decision. I can promise no more than that.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Absolutely!”

Jesse dragged a hand over his face. “Winston, buddy, _no_.”

“Well, why not?”

The whole team was gathered in the conference room to hear the results of Morrison’s questioning. They were _supposed_ to lead with the more urgent news about Talon activity, but Jesse and Hanzo couldn’t get a word in edgewise to Winston before the meeting. If it wasn’t about dear old Morrison, Winston thought it could wait. Now that the news Morrison wanted to join up was out, everyone had their own two cents on what to do about it.

“It doesn’t seem wrong to you,” Doc said, “to bring an amnesiac on to the team? At best, it seems manipulative of his identity.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Torbjörn muttered.

Doc threw her hands in the air. “Yes, please tell me how skilled I am at manipulations, you who is masterfully immune.”

“It is not our place to tell Jack how to live his life!” Reinhardt announced, thumping the table, rattling everything on its surface. “If he wishes to serve, who are we to deny him?”

“He’d probably just strike out on his own anyway,” Brigitte said. “Putting him _and_ us at greater risk in the process.”

“Well, that much is true,” Doc agreed.

“Isn’t having a veteran agent join us a good thing?” Lúcio asked, leaning forward on his forearms. “I mean he was the _Strike Commander_. That’s got to count for something!”

“Maybe as marks against him,” Jesse countered. “The Fall happened on his watch.”

“I, for one, am in favor of retaining him,” Hanzo said from next to Genji. “Morrison is a liability whether or not he joins our team. Keeping him close allows us to hold a tighter leash.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t feel right abandoning him,” Lena said. “He’s got a right to be on the team.”

Zenyatta hummed, necklace of orbs spinning slowly. “It may also be wise to consider the effects Morrison will have on the team. His arrival alone has inspired great disharmony. We may be able to overcome that with time and healing, but we do not have an excess of time.”

“I hate to be the one to mention the practical aspects-- no, really,” Genji said with a short laugh. “But can we afford to turn away any fighters?”

“We still have a moral obligation,” Angela insisted.

Jesse spread his arms. “What’s so moral about decidin’ whether he fights Talon with a team or on his own? All we’re really decidin’ if we wanna risk our asses on his account again. Sure you can guess where I stand on that.”

“Morrison wouldn’t be leading Overwatch again,” Hanzo said. “We are not restructuring our ranks.”

“Does everyone in this room _know _that?” Jesse challenged.

There was a brief silence as the team glanced at each other awkwardly. 

Winston scratched at his chest. “Let’s… think on it. We’ll review the mission in Dorado and revisit the question at the end of the meeting.”

“If you say so.” Jesse reseated his hat and took a deep breath. Fine. Everything was _fine._ “Right. Dorado. Team was composed of myself, Lena, Lúcio, and Hanzo. We arrived last Wednesday and spent the week gathering info and canvassing the area--” He looked up. “Y’all still remember the in-progress reports or should I recap?” 

There was a series of vague confirmations. 

Fuck it, he didn’t give a shit anymore. “Nothin’ significant happened until the night before last, anyway. That’s when I ran into Soldier: 76, who we now know to be Morrison. After a brief conversation,” he said sardonically. “We discovered that we shared the mutual intention to disrupt Los Muertos and Talon’s handoff. Instead of having four factions in the fight and risking friendly fire, we agreed to team up."

"Sensible," Winston approved.

“Didn’t turn out that way,” Jesse groused. “We knew goin’ in that we wouldn’t have the numbers to really challenge Talon and Los Muertos, no matter how few showed up. The plan was to watch the exchange, figure out exactly what was changin’ hands, and leave without makin’ a fuss." Jesse ticked off a finger for each task as he spoke. "That went out the window when Morrison _initiated contact_ without any kind of discussion or forewarnin'. Just-- hopped out from his hidin’ spot and opened fire."

"That doesn't sound right," Reinhardt said with a confused frown. "Jack was never rash in battle."

"No, that was _your_ job," Torbjörn muttered.

Jesse ignored them. “While he was playin’ Rambo, I managed to get eyes on the shipment.” He paused, making sure all eyes were on him. They were _all _going to understand just how much shit they were collectively in. “It was an EMP bomb. A _big_ one. Big enough to take out a small city-- or a chunk of a large one.”

The room broke out in a rush of whispers.

"Um, everyone?" Winston said, hardly loud enough to be heard across the table. "Please quiet down so Jesse can finish."

The conversations didn't stop. Jesse crossed his arms. He made his point and hell if he was gonna raise his voice to command a meeting that wasn't his. He wouldn't hold Winston's hand forever. Especially if he insisted on dumbass ideas, like letting Morrison join. 

Hanzo didn’t quite see it that way, though. Course he didn’t, the man had a compulsive need for order and control.

"If I could have your attention," Hanzo said sharply. He wasn't particularly loud, but it managed to draw everyone back to focus anyway. Hanzo gestured him to continue.

Jesse unfolded his arms. “Since we achieved our goals, the plan was to just pop smoke and get the hell out of Dodge before reinforcements could show up, but thanks to Morrison that went to utter shit.”

“I was stationed nearby,” Hanzo took over, shooting questioning glances Jesse’s way. Yeah, this was the first meeting he wasn’t all hunky dory, wasn’t it? Get used to it, pal. “A transformer was severely damaged early in the fight against Los Muertos, meaning the majority of it took place in total or near darkness. Talon had sent only one agent-- Reaper.”

A shudder came over Jesse. Dammit, he had almost forgotten about that. “Reaper was some sort of nano-cloud nightmare," he explained. "Looked, talked, and shot like a person, though. Mostly.”

“Nano-cloud?" Doc asked with interest. "As in, a nanite colony?” 

“I dunno. It was able to turn all," he waved his hands vaguely. "_Smoky_ and move around like a cloud. Don’t know what else could do that. Some creepy shit, though.”

“Putting an arrow through its head seemed sufficient to stop it,” Hanzo added.

“This sounds like the unnatural one that invaded the watchpoint in February,” Winston said thoughtfully. “I wonder if Talon has many of them?”

Jesse winced at the idea of an entire army of waking nightmares. “Jesus, I hope not. And why would they only send one if they had more?”

“Focusing on the mission,” Hanzo redirected. “Once McCree had discovered the contents of the shipment, he was to retreat. However, Morrison had sustained severe injuries in fighting Los Muertos. McCree showed great courage in rushing to Morrison’s aid in the face of overwhelming odds, especially considering Morrison’s previous behavior. McCree was able to neutralize the remaining Los Muertos agents and light his immediate vicinity so that I could disable the Reaper. From there, it was a matter of evacuating from the scene.”

“We, uh,” Jesse stumbled, still trying to wrap his mind around Hanzo paying him a compliment. Publicly, too! “We got him to a nearby alley. The wounds were really severe. If it was anyone but Morrison under Soldier’s mask, they definitely would have died. We made contact with Lena and I made the call to wait for Lúcio’s assessment. Soldier was able to tell us about his safehouse-- he was in and out of consciousness pretty frequently because of the pain. Lúcio warned us he might not survive the trip, but we didn’t really have any other options. Couldn’t really take him to our hotel.”

“Yeah,” Lúcio confirmed. “He had uh, three gun shot wounds, multiple abrasions, and uh…cuts?” He looked to Doc.

“Lacerations,” she offered.

“Ah, yeah, that’s it!” Lúcio said enthusiastically. “Thanks. So, like, by the time we made it to Mr. Morrison’s safehouse, his wounds were already showing signs of healing, way beyond what my audio tech should’ve been able to help.”

“That’s what tipped me off.” Jesse shrugged a shoulder. “The Strike Commander’s superhuman abilities were an ill-kept secret by the time I joined Overwatch.” Really, he knew because Reyes had the same trait. Healed faster than doctors could dig the bullets out. “All I had to do was put two and two together. I made the call to leave Dorado as soon as possible. Morrison was in no danger of dying, even without medical treatment, but knowin’ who he was… I’m sure y’all can understand my line of thinkin’. So we called ahead and... here we are.”

“Here we are,” Winston agreed. “Dr. Zeigler, what of his medical assessment?”

“Permanent retrograde amnesia and signs of persistent anterograde amnesia to a lesser degree as a result of traumatic brain injuries,” Doc rattled off cooly. “It seems that the super soldier serum enabled healing of brain cells and synapses that normally isn’t possible, which is likely the reason he’s been having fewer lapses in memory. That said, it is unlikely that he will ever recover to his pre-injury memory capabilities. I would not be surprised if he occasionally forgets smaller details in his day-to-day life.”

Winston rubbed his chin. “Is it enough to disqualify him as an agent?”

“I…” Doc grimaced. “No. I say he won’t recover to pre-injury form, but pre-injury he had a remarkable capacity to remember details, possibly also a side effect of the serum.”

“So he’s a mortal like the rest of us, now,” Jesse surmised.

“Was your questioning of Morrison in keeping with Dr. Zeiglers’ assessment?” Winston asked.

“I would say yes,” Hanzo confirmed. “Assuming that he was truthful, Morrison could only remember events post-Zurich and even then it was intermittent. He had difficulty recalling details of a person he had spent the better part of five years with.”

“More importantly,” Jesse said. “He told us what Talon’s plans for the EMP bomb are. They’re takin’ it--”

“Wait, he knew Talon’s next move?” Winston jumped in excitedly. “Evidence that his knowledge and experience could prove invaluable!"

Jesse looked at Winston incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“McCree’s outrage is justified,” Hanzo said. “As we would have been able to determine this ourselves had Morrison not prematurely engaged in battle. This is only evidence that the knowledge and experience Morrison once relied on is absent.”

“Wow,” Genji said in shock. “It _must_ be bad if Jesse and Hanzo agree.”

“Well, surely--” Winston droned.

Jesse tuned him out. He had enough of this shit, time to rip off the bandage. “They’re takin’ the bomb to King’s Row.”

The uproar was instantaneous, though Lena’s shouted “No!” was clear through the commotion. Winston just sat in his chair blinking stupidly. Jesse ended up locking on to Zenyatta’s conversation as he waited for Winston to figure out his shit.

“This is most distressing,” Zenyatta said, orbs spinning at a rate Jesse’d never seen before.

Genji leaned towards the monk. “Master, you won’t have to participate in a mission that--”

“Of course I will,” Zenyatta said sternly. “Mondatta would expect no less. I am ashamed that you would think so little of me, Genji.”

Ouch. He didn't even think Zenyatta had a mean bolt in his body, but that was harsh.

Genij bowed his head. “I meant no disrespect, Master, please forgive--”

“Enough!” Hanzo shouted, slapping a palm on the table. 

Jesse raised his brows in surprise. Hanzo losing his temper? Seemed like he got to witness all sorts of firsts tonight.

“We do not need to break out in fevered whispers at every scrap of news,” he seethed. “If we are meant to be the new Overwatch, we should be professional.”

“Didn’t we have to kidnap you?” Brigitte asked. “You were never a member of Overwatch. You don’t know how it used to be.”

“Then live up to the expectations laid down by your forebears,” Hanzo demanded. Brigitte flushed, glancing up at Rein, but Hanzo didn’t wait for a retort. “These childish displays are a waste of time. As we speak, Talon prepares to execute an operation that can plunge the entire world into a true Second Omnic Crisis, but we bicker over petty grudges and interrupt our own mission debriefs. It is a disgrace!”

Jesse tucked his chin, angry that Hanzo’s words made him feel guilty. It was just this _one_ fucking meeting where he wasn’t all suave and smiles! And he had a god damn _right _to be upset about Morrison!

“King’s Row in London is the target,” Hanzo continued. “It’s home to one of the world’s most densely populated omnic ghettos. It is the site of a Shambali priest’s assassination. It will hold the global Summit for Omnic Rights in eight days. We do not have the luxury of squabbling amongst ourselves. We need to act and we need _you_,” Hanzo leveled a hand at Winston, “to lead us.”

“I, um, er, that is-- yes, of course.” Winston coughed into a fist. “We should, erm, gather data about the situation. I’ll do that and then we can meet again, uh--”

Jesse rubbed his face tiredly. “Winston, I appreciate it, buddy, but we need to start preparing _now_.”

“Right,” he agreed, looking confused. “That’s why I’ll begin immediate analysis. We can’t take action without a plan.”

“Yeah, you can, actually.” Jesse sat up properly, praying to Amari for patience. “We know we’re going to respond to this information, right? We’re definitely going to King’s Row and stopping Talon.”

Winston nodded.

“Alright, right away we know that the Lark’s gonna need maintenance and Lena’s gonna need to call in to her local hangar for a parking space. Talon’s gonna be there, so it’s an all-on-deck situation. Brigitte will want to put finishing touches on Rein’s armor, Rein will need to adjust his workouts, and Torb will hammer the One Ring in his forge or whatever the hell it is he does.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Torbjörn shot back.

“I’m sure there’ll be a lot of casualties on site,” Jesse added, Doc nodding emphatically in response. “So Doc will need to team up with Lúcio and Zen and anyone else who wants to brush up on medical know-how. As for you, Winston-- me, Hanzo, and Genji will all be available to help you plan the operational and tactical aspects of the mission. This should be enough for everyone to get started. Tomorrow night we can reconvene and reevaluate.”

“Tomorrow?” Winston asked with wide eyes. “That’s too soon. I won’t have time to plan everything!”

“That is fine,” Genji said. “Tomorrow we’ll be able to share what we have learned so far and discuss our rough ideas on how to achieve our goals. We can refine our plan throughout the week.”

“We do it this way so that everyone in the team has as much time to prepare as possible,” Jesse explained. “Otherwise, they’d all be scramblin’ the day before tryin’ to get everythin’ ready cause it took us that long to have a solid plan.”

“Oh, okay…” Winston still looked overwhelmed.

Jesse sighed and rubbed his neck. “Look, tensions have been high for all of us. It’s no excuse for me snappin’ at you and things are gonna get worse before they get better with this mission crunch, but we’re gonna pull through this. This is what we’ve been trainin’ for.”

“Right,” Winston agreed, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than agree with Jesse. “Right! We are Overwatch! We’re the heroes the world needs right now! We’ve been training for weeks and we’ll be ready for Talon-- they won’t know what hit them.” Winston grinned, his long canines glinting in the office light.

Jesse clapped with the rest of the team-- not the most rousing speech, but at the end of the day Winston was their leader. And also a gorilla capable of ripping Jesse’s remaining arm off.

“We have a lot to do to prepare for our next mission, team!” Winston beamed at them all. “I’m going to begin the data analysis and call another meeting for tomorrow afternoon. As for Morrison, with the upcoming mission, I think every capable hand is going to be critical in the fight, but I’ll put it up to a vote. All for it, raise your hand!”

Every hand but Doc’s rose into the air, Jesse included. She shot him a betrayed look.

“What?” He asked. “If we’re lucky, he’ll die a hero next week.”

“Don’t say that!” Lena exclaimed.

“It’s settled,” Winston said. “Jack Morrison is the newest member of Overwatch! Oh, um, that sounds really strange doesn’t it? Well, uh if no one else has something for the good of the group--”

“Winston!” Lúcio said, raising his hand high. “I need to talk to you about potential recruits.”

“Er, okay. Let’s go to my lab and chat, if that’s okay?

“Alright, sounds good to me!”

“Excellent!” Winston looked at the rest of the team. “Um, team dismissed!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being a day late. experienced a critical loss of motivation, but we're almost to the halfway point!


	28. Reconcile

⟪I do not like this,⟫ Genji said.

Master did not deign to respond. 

Glancing at him as they walked, Genji eventually decided the silence was an invitation to continue. ⟪Torbjörn has _never_ asked to speak with you. He’s always had Brigitte or Rein relay his complaint of the day, so I cannot help but think-- ⟫

⟪Us.⟫

Genji was gritting his teeth before he even had a chance to register his own irritation. Which was petty, because it was a simple interjection. In fact, he should be mad at _himself_ for being annoyed in the first place. What kind of ungrateful pupil-- he sucked in a deep breath, breaking the train of thought. There were enough people who thought poorly of him. He did not need to be one of them.

⟪Mister Lindholm has requested to speak with _us_,⟫ Master continued. ⟪Not me alone.⟫

Genji looked at him sharply. ⟪Is that supposed to change my view?⟫ He demanded. ⟪Torbjörn has never asked to speak with me, either.⟫

⟪But he _has_ spoken with us in the past, though it was not requested.⟫ Master's shoulders gently rose and fell in a graceful shrug. ⟪It is not so implausible that circumstances have changed.⟫

Implausible? Maybe not. Improbable, given his past, current, and future actions? He'd sooner bet on Angela giving up caffeine. 

⟪He will be representing the Ironclad Guild at the Summit,⟫ he said darkly. It was part reminder, part warning.

...That Master promptly disregarded. 

⟪You say that as if there is significance to the fact,⟫ he said, ⟪beyond its role in placing our agents within the Summit.⟫

Genji grit his teeth involuntarily again. ⟪You’re being deliberately obtuse, Master.⟫ 

He regretted it as soon as he said it, especially when Master looked at him disapprovingly. 

⟪I should have phrased that better,⟫ he admitted. ⟪But I stand by it. I'm sure you're using some technique to draw a realization from me, but I am not in the headspace to play with puzzles. If you're aware of something that changes the context of the situation we’re walking into, I'd like to know it.⟫

Master stopped, calmly folding his hands together in front of him. ⟪And what situation is that?⟫

His previous regret proved fleeting as another tidal wave of irritation rolled over Genji. Of _course _Master would take a Socratic approach instead of taking his concerns seriously. 

⟪Torbjörn is an omnicphobe,⟫ he nearly shouted, completely failing to keep his tone even. ⟪He’s personally insulted you, myself, and Angela. He has a long history of voicing and even _acting against_ omnic rights. I can put my feelings aside to work with him in Overwatch because we share a common enemy in Talon, who poses a comparatively greater threat to omnics. The fact remains-- we, two omnics, are meeting with a man who would be happy to see us disassembled, with _no_ idea what he will say or do.⟫

⟪You believe Mister Lindholm wishes to cause us harm?⟫

Genji paused. He heard the doubt and disappointment in Master's words, but this was too serious to chase approval over honesty. ⟪I truly do not know.⟫

⟪Hm. Well, even if I did not have confidence in Mister Lindholm,⟫ Master said as he primly readjusted his robes. ⟪I have faith in Reinhardt and Miss Lindholm. You do yourself a disservice, thinking so little of your teammates.⟫

That… wasn't right. None of this was right. When had Master ever been anything less than attentive to his students? For him to discount such strong emotions… Genji looked over his master, noting his distracted air and small, twitchy movements.

⟪Master, I do not understand why you are dismissing me. What's wrong?⟫

⟪Nothing is-- ⟫ Master cut himself off. The rotation of his _mala_ orbs slowed to a crawl. Then he sighed softly. ⟪No. You are right.⟫

Genji shifted uneasily on his feet, too worried for Master to properly enjoy being right for once. 

Master steepled his fingers, looking at them instead of Genji as he spoke. ⟪I owe you an apology. This is an… unusual event. I find myself anxious. I have been allowing that anxiousness to affect my behavior. That is unworthy of me, and unfair to you.⟫

Genji rubbed at his chest, subconsciously trying to relieve the pang of guilt. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own feelings, maybe he could have noticed Master's sooner. 

⟪Don't-- this is my fault, too, Master. You shouldn't have to apologize. I should have considered you might be worried, too.⟫ He took a deep breath. ⟪Please, share your concerns with me.⟫

Master looked up from his hands, pressing his steepled fingertips to his chin. The silence stretched as he seemed to work through his reservations, until he finally nodded. 

Master's tone was steady as he spoke. ⟪As you said, Mister Lindholm has not inspired confidence with respect to his relations with omnics. I cannot fathom why Mister Lindholm would wish to speak with us only a few days before the mission. A mission in London, no less, a city that still practices omnic segregation. For every rights summit held in King's Row, there are hundreds of hate crimes and dozens of murders. My own master was assassinated there and all Mondatta ever wanted was _peace_.⟫ Master's voice strained by the end, fighting to stay steady.

Genji wrapped one arm around Master's shoulders, knowing it would comfort him. Knowledge gained in the aftermath of Mondatta's death, actually. Knowledge he'd rather have never learned.

⟪To add to all this, our aim is to stop Talon, who wishes to cause another Crisis and has killed thousands to do it. It is simply too much. There is too much at stake for me, for the world, to be distracted with distrust for a teammate, but... It's the uncertainty of his intentions that unsettles me most.⟫

Genji nodded. ⟪We could choose not to attend this meeting. There's no need to stress ourselves for Torbjörn's sake.⟫

⟪We could,⟫ Master agreed. ⟪But I fear it would only damage the trust between us more. And… even with my misgivings, I find myself hoping for a reconciliation.⟫

He narrowed his eyes. ⟪That is… optimistic.⟫

⟪Yes. It is. But I never would have thought that Mister Lindholm could befriend an omnic, let alone adopt a Crisis-model veteran into his family. Yet Bastion remains, and the two seem happy in each other's company.⟫

⟪It may be the strangest thing I've ever seen,⟫ he allowed. ⟪Torbjörn becoming an ally would be stranger.⟫

⟪Then let us hope for strange things.⟫ Master straightened his robe and resumed their walk. They were already halfway to the Forge when they had stopped, so the rest of the journey did not take long.

As the staircase to the Forge came into view, Genji thought that maybe they should have hoped for something more specific than 'strange things'. Torbjörn waited outside near the top of the stairs, not in his usual oil-stained jumpsuit, but dressed nicely in a button-down shirt and pressed slacks. He had even braided his beard instead of leaving it bushy and wild. Bastion stood beside him, inexplicably wearing a plaid bowtie and a bowler hat, beeping happily when he noticed them. 

Torbjörn startled at their appearance, jumping a little and widening his eyes. Genji watched him attempt several different positions with his hand and prosthetic-- folding them in front and behind, crossing his arms-- before he finally let them fall limply at his side.

“Er, good morning,” Torbjörn said, eyes darting everywhere but at them.

Yeah, this was not strange in the way he and Master had wanted.

“Good morning!” Master responded cheerily. At least one of them had social grace. “I hope we find you both in good health.”

“You-- I-- Er--” Torbjörn cut himself off with a frustrated grunt. “We're good. And… yourself?”

“I am pleased to say the same.”

Silence fell fast and heavy. Master waited without expression, betraying none of the emotions they had worked through only moments before. Torbjörn rocked on his heels, sharp eyes locked on Master in a way that put Genji on edge. In his peripherals-- because no way was he taking his eyes off Master and Torbjörn-- he could see Bastion anxiously looking between all three of them.

“Ah, blast it,” Torbjörn said, brushing a hand down his beard. “I’m no good at small talk. No use in pretending otherwise. Bastion and I prepared a table in the garden. You two want to head in or have I already mucked up our meeting?”

Well, if Torbjörn was giving them an out--

“Not at all,” Master said. “Please, lead the way.”

So began their descent to madness. Or death. Genji was happy to provide either, given the circumstances. They clattered down the stairway, the metal stairs clanging loudly.

Torbjörn spoke up from the head of the column when they reached the otherwise empty Forge. “I asked Rein and Brigitte to clear out for the morning. Probably won’t do us good for long. Rein hates working out in the gym for some reason. We’ll at least have an hour of relative peace to talk, though.”

“That’s… good.” Genji eventually said. Honestly, he might’ve preferred it if those two had been in the workshop. At least there’d be somewhat neutral parties if Genji needed to… disagree with Torbjörn.

Torbjörn held open the garden door for them. Genji chose not to comment on it, entering the morning sunshine to assess their meeting place. As Torbjörn had said, there was a round table set up in the main clearing of the garden, potted plants shoved closer to the edges of the garden to make room. There were only three chairs. 

Three chairs for four people. 

Who was meant to stand? Was Bastion a pet in Torbjörn's eyes, not fit to eat at the table? Did he consider Genji little more than a dog in Master's service? He wouldn't be the first to say so. Or was this meant to be a jibe at Master’s self-propulsion tech?

He turned to confront Torbjörn, only for Bastion to accidentally bump him as he lumbered to the table. Bastion clanked to the one setting without a chair, straightened out his arms, and rocked back, sitting on the ground with a heavy _thud._ Even without a proper seat, he still sat tall above the table. 

Genji glanced back at Torbjörn. Fine. Expectations exceeded: 1.

“Sit wherever you like," Torbjörn said, taking his own seat to Bastion’s left. "Doesn’t make much difference to me."

Genji started for the seat next to Torbjörn, but a pressure at his elbow gently redirected him to Bastion’s side. Grudgingly, he accepted Master's guidance. It wasn't like a table would stop him if his knife needed to get acquainted with Torbjörn's throat.

Master sat on Genji's other side. “Thank you for inviting us, Mister Lindholm.”

Torbjörn's face twisted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well. Thanks for showing up. I know you didn’t have much reason to.”

About time they learned what was really going on.

But Torbjörn didn't elaborate, so Master spoke next, politely confused. “I admit that your invitation was… unexpected.”

“Yeah, well… life’s made up of the unexpected.”

“Words of wisdom,” Genji muttered.

Torbjörn fiddled with a napkin. “Would anyone like, erm, coffee?”

“No--”

“Yes, please,” Master said over him.

Genji stiffened, rigidly waiting for Torbjörn to make some sneering remark about how Master didn’t need coffee... but it never came.

“Can do. Sure you don’t want any, Genji?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Alright, let me know if you change your mind.”

He wouldn’t. He’d seen the coffee Torbjörn made. He’d also seen Brigitte use it as a tar substitute.

Torbjörn stood from the table and returned to the Forge. No sooner had the door closed than Bastion began speaking in urgent, almost fretful beeps and whistles. Genji sat up, alarmed.

“Is everything alright?” He asked Master.

“I-- yes, Genji.” Strangely, Master sounded as confused as Genji felt. “My apologies, Bastion, I know how important this is to you. I can assure you we do not think ill of Torbjörn for not having matching napkins--”

Genji looked down at the table. Sure enough, none of the napkins were the same color or pattern. He was pretty sure that one of them wasn’t a napkin at all, but a pair of Reinhardt’s workout shorts. Gingerly, he lifted it from the table, relieved there wasn’t any food at this… event.

Bastions whistled in a questioning tone, Master nodding emphatically in response.

“Yes, I promise we’re enjoying ourselves. You are both being gracious hosts.”

The door to the workshop opened again and Genji surreptitiously tossed the shorts away. Really, he was doing everyone a favor.

Torbjörn passed a piping hot mug of coffee into Master’s waiting hands. “Here you go, fresh from the pot!” 

“Much appreciated.”

Torbjörn reseated himself at the table, cradling his own mug of coffee, looking anywhere that wasn’t Master and Genji. Bastion twittered tonelessly. Master held his cup of coffee, saying nothing. Torbjörn slurped at his noisily. 

This was unbearable.

“So,” Genji drawled. “Are we going to get to the point of this, or...?”

“Genji!” Master admonished him even as Torbjörn burst out laughing.

“I was only asking!”

“In the rudest way possible!”

“No, no,” Torbjörn said between chuckles. “It’s fine.” He wiped a tear from his eye with the palm of his hand. “The starting is always the hardest part and now we’re started.”

“I-- well, if you’re sure,” Master said with concern.

“I’m always sure. So. I know you don’t understand why I’ve asked you here.”

Genji snorted. “Understatement.”

“Don’t blame you. The reason I asked you here--” Torbjörn took a deep breath “--is so I can formally apologize.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. That might’ve been the last thing he _ever _expected a Lindholm to say, let alone Torbjörn himself.

Master was likewise surprised, managing only a faint “Oh” in response.

“For what?” Genji finally asked.

Torbjörn shrugged. “Everything? It’s a long list.” He took a long sip of sludge-coffee. “There’s so much that I’m... not sure where to begin.”

“I usually like to start at the beginning,” Master said-- even in shock he couldn’t shake his mentoring instincts. Genji had seen the same after Mondatta’s death, consoling other monks without taking a moment for his own grief.

“The beginning, eh?” Torbjörn tapped on his mug. “I guess that’ll do. The beginning was before Overwatch. Before the Crisis. Before omnics, even. Back then, we were only beginning to scratch the surface of what AI could do and I was already halfway through my professional career as an engineer.”

“With Ironclad,” Genji said. Part reminder, part accusation.

Torbjörn nodded. “Yes, I had been part of the guild for years at that point. Had a leadership position, though it wasn’t senior. They offered one to me, but I didn’t take it. I’d rather build ‘mechanical marvels’.” He scoffed softly. “I was an idiot.”

Genji glanced at Bastion. “Wasn’t Bastion one of those mechanical marvels?” He asked, voice hard.

Torbjörn nodded, still not reacting to Genji’s tone. “Aye. Him and countless other war machines.”

“Bastion is hardly a war machine.” Master said quietly.

“Not anymore,” Torbjörn agreed. “And certainly no thanks to me. I never messed with software, let alone AI. All I did was make the chassis-- the bodies. War machines are meant for war, and that’s what my creations did. Warred against all humanity, against the entire planet. That’s my first apology. Without me, the Omnic Crisis wouldn’t have been what it was.”

Genji crossed his arms. “Doesn’t it seem arrogant to you, holding yourself accountable as the sole person responsible for the Crisis?”

“It would be if that’s what I was apologizing for." Torbjörn took another slurp of coffee. "No, I knew we were going down a dangerous path with AI. I argued against it, within the guild and out. For a long time, I thought that absolved me of guilt. I knew that AI would lead to our destruction and I was right. Can’t be guilty if you’re right, eh? But in the end, even if I didn’t build the brain, I built the bodies. What if I had built the bastion model with weaknesses? What if I hadn’t built it at all? Would the god programs have designed their own armies instead of using the blueprints I gave them?”

Genji shook his head. “Someone else would have built them.”

“They would. But they didn’t." He patted his chest. "_I _did. It was _my_ creations I had to fight on every battlefield. You think Overwatch recruited me because I was the best mechanical engineer in the world? Far from it. They recruited me because I was the bastard who made the robots we fought.”

Beside him, Master's orbs glowed slightly. “I imagine it was difficult, having to destroy your own creations.”

Master would have to forgive him for not being so quick to comfort a weapons dealer.

“So you feel guilty for contributing to the Crisis," Genji bit out. "Apology accepted. You realize this is the smallest of your offenses against us?”

Torbjörn raised his bushy brows. “Of course I do. Like I said, it’s a long list. After the Crisis was over, I made it my life’s mission to prevent it from ever happening again. I finally accepted that senior position in Ironclad--”

“And used it to campaign against omnic rights," Genji finished for him.

“That I did,” Torbjörn said gravely. “I thought omnic autonomy was hogwash. After all, I just fought a war against them. Take the god program out, let its network collapse, and the omnics collapsed right along with it, like puppets cut from a string. Robots don’t spontaneously do _anything_, let alone gain sentience. The god programs themselves only did exactly what they were programmed to do-- maximize profits at all costs. Some programmer with feathers for brains didn’t stop to think that building war machines is most profitable _during _a war. Anyway. The omnics rights movement, to me, was nothing more than sensationalist anthropomorphizing. It happened during the war, too. Even before, if we’re honest. ‘God programs’." Torbjörn snorted. "We should have known better.”

“If it was as you say," Master challenged gently. "If omnics acted as puppets without a master once the god programs were destroyed, then wouldn’t that have been even stronger reason to believe that omnics truly _were _gaining sentience?”

“Maybe," Torbjörn said. "If omnics all gained sentience at once. Instead, it spread like an infection… or a virus.”

Genji scowled. “Intelligence isn’t a disease.”

Torbjörn shook his head and set his mug down. “You misunderstand. While we couldn’t pin down a pattern, we could confirm that omnics not connected to the global linkup didn’t exhibit signs of so-called sentience like others did. That’s practically a neon sign screaming ‘virus!’”

“That theory was debunked, though!" He seethed. "There were omnics all over the world who Awoke without connecting to the uplink.”

“Lies," Torbjörn said dispassionately. "Well, partially true, but not in a way that debunked the theory. Every instance of an omnic exhibiting sentience without an uplink had connected to another omnic who did. The virus would have spread directly.”

Genji eased back in his seat, not sure when he started leaning forward so aggressively. “But… if that’s true then…”

Torbjörn sighed. “Look, politics is dirty. Omnic rights is political. Some lied in defense of the truth and some told the truth in defense of a lie. At the end of the day, omnics are sentient. Have been since the Crisis. Either that or they approximate sentience so effectively that Turing himself couldn’t tell the difference.”

“All this," Master said, "And you still think there is a chance that omnics aren’t sentient?”

“I like to hedge my bets.”

Genji stood in disgust, the only thing keeping him in the garden was Master’s hand on his wrist.

Guilt flashed across Torbjörn’s face. “Sorry-- that wasn’t what I meant to--”

He shook off Master's grip, but made no move to leave. “Why the change of heart, if you still believe Master and Bastion are nothing more than minds bound by wire?”

“That's…" Torbjörn picked at a thread on his sleeve. "A long story, I think." 

"I have time."

He picked up his mug before immediately setting down again. "Finding Bastion helped me, er, _reconsider _a lot of my positions. Though, I think that given enough time I would have come to the same conclusions.”

“If Bastion wasn’t the final push, then what was?”

Torbjörn sighed. “They say that death has a way of putting life in perspective, but it turns out the opposite is true, too. Jack’s alive, but in a lot of ways he only lives on as a memory.”

Genji wasn't sure where Torbjörn was going with this, but he wasn't off to a good start. “Morrison hated omnics just as much as you did.”

“Aye. He _did_.” Torbjörn paused to emphasize the past tense. “I tried keeping Bastion out of his sight for as long as I could. An E-54 unit and a Crisis veteran with, eh, let’s say _deeply ingrained_ reactions. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn’t it?”

Genji refused to laugh with him.

Torbjörn’s weak smile disappeared. “Jack hardly spared him a second glance. Didn’t even comment on his model. He asked why he had a garden hose and… that was it."

"That was… it?" Genji echoed doubtfully. Sure, Morrison lost his memory, but some ideas live in blood and bone instead of the brain. He would have thought Morrison's hatred of omnics would be one of those.

Torbjörn nodded. "That's how I felt, too. Didn't expect someone who valued his experiences so strongly to turn into someone who, well, _doesn't_. It made me wonder. Old Jack never would have given Bastion a chance, would've destroyed him on the spot. Am I like that, too? If omnic sentience _was_ truth, would I be able to recognize it? With as many people as I lost to the Crisis-- friends, colleagues, my sister and her family-- am _I_ the one who can’t see the future for the past?”

Bastion whirred quietly, jerkily giving Torbjörn a pat on his shoulder. Master remained silent, but Genji could tell from his folded hands that he was deep in thought. Personally, he wasn't convinced. Words were always easier than action.

Torbjörn cleared his throat. “I’ll be representing the Ironclad Guild at the Summit. As we have for the past six years, we will enter from the south, but this year, for the first time, we will exit to the north.”

A gasp drew Genji’s attention to his right, where Master had a hand pressed against his faceplate.

“Master?”

“When the Summit was first held,” Master explained, tone full of wonder. “The fighting between both sides was so extreme that delegates couldn’t get through the crowds of protestors. In the following years, the organizers split the protesters in two. There are only two roads into the building that held the Summit. Anti-omnic delegates always come from the south and pro-omnics… come from the north.”

“...Ironclad is switching sides?”

“Yep," Torbjörn confirmed, sitting straighter. "We’ll be blacklisted in quite a few countries, Sweden included, but… it’s time we start moving forward again. _Before_ Talon can drag us into another Crisis.”

“For every nation that turns you away, another will welcome you with open arms,” Master said fervently. “I already felt privileged to represent the Shambali this Summit, but I will be truly honored to see Ironclad join hands with us.”

That caught Torbjörn's attention. “You’re representing the Shambali?”

“Yes, I requested it when I realized how advantageous it would be to have delegates in the Summit.”

“That’s a rather last-minute change,” Torbjörn observed. "Surprised they let you have it."

“I had to call in… _many_ favors. Oh!" Master clapped his hands together, almost gleeful. "Jomo will be beside herself to learn she gave up her seat for the one Summit progress actually occurs.”

Torbjörn chuckled. “Will it be just the two of us, then?”

“No," Genji said. "I will be there. Nominally as Master's assistant, but really as his guard."

Master nodded. "I believe Lúcio has a seat as well, representing a pro-omnic group for the South Americas.”

Grinning, Torbjörn lifted his mug high. “Well, that might be the best news about the mission I’ve heard all day.”

“Lucky that it is not yet noon, then,” Master said cheekily.

Genji watched them laugh together, Bastion joining in with his own version of chuckling. “You’ve surprised me today, Torbjörn.”

“I think I'll take that as a compliment," Torbjörn said. "Not many can say they’ve surprised a ninja.”

“Not many set the bar so low in the first place.”

Torbjörn grimaced. “Suppose I deserve that.”

“I suppose you do." Genji took a deep breath and ignored Master attempting to burn a hole in his head with nothing but a stare. "I appreciate you’re making great steps to make up for the things you’ve done. As you explain it, I understand that has always been your intent although it is rarely your result. Please appreciate that despite this, I have no interest in anything other than a professional relationship with you and even that is out of necessity rather than desire.”

Narrowing his shrewd eyes, Torbjörn eventually nodded and took another draught from his mug. “Harsh, but fair. I’ve got no quarrel with you, Genji.”

“But you do with Angela.”

Torbjörn scratched his beard before sighing deeply. “It rubs me the wrong way, that she is so secretive and can do things without explanation. Too much like the god program developers before the Crisis. Whatever your group gets up to when you squirrel yourselves away probably isn’t any of my business, but every time I’ve said something wasn’t my problem in the past, it’s come back to bite me harder than if I’d just confronted it head on.”

Genji froze, zeroing in on one particular sentence. "What do you mean, 'what my group gets up to'?"

For some reason, Torbjörn blushed, red cheeks barely visible through his thick beard. "You know…"

Genji shrugged, truly at a loss, but scared that the Old Guard had already figured out their part in Blackwatch. 

"You, your girlfriend, McCree?" Torbjörn shifted uncomfortably. "Sort of thought it was, er, date night for you all until you started bringing your brother into it."

What.

"I, uh, that's not--"

"Bah, I'm not one to judge. As long as you're all consenting adults."

Genji slapped a hand to his face. "Oh, Iris…" He'd almost rather that Blackwatch was exposed.

Bastion’s whistling laughter just made it worse.

“I’m, ah,” Genji stood up. “Thanks for the chat, Torbjörn.” He edged away from the table, studiously ignoring Master’s knowing chortles. “I’ve really got to go-- things to do. Like, ah, stuff.” Real smooth...

Torbjörn waved with his mechanical arm. “Thank you for coming, Genji. Makes an old man happy to do a little better today, and hopefully a little better tomorrow, too.”

“I will see you for meditation this afternoon,” Master said, apparently intending to continue the conversation with Torbjörn and Bastion.

Bastion beeped a farewell and Genji ducked away through the garden, eager to escape through the Forge. He opened the door only to stop short, the entire entryway taken up by Reinhardt’s muscled back, enormous barbell on his shoulders.

"Come on, Rein,” Brigitte’s voice sounded from inside the Forge. “Dig deep!"

Rein grunted, thighs the size of Genji's entire body flexing as he strained underneath the weight, striving to return to his full height and slowly rising, centimeter by centimeter.

"This is nothing!" Brigitte shouted. "You lift more than this every day!"

He tried peeking over Reinhardt to catch Brigitte’s eye, but Reinhardt was too tall even in a deep squat.

"This isn't the weight of the world,” Brigitte challenged him. “The weight of duty, or the Crusader Battalion-- it's a _measly _500 kilos. Now LIFT!"

Rein surged upward with a roar, standing tall in the rack. It was a-- somewhat terrifying-- sight to behold. His victorious laughter boomed through the small room, easily drowning out Brigitte's ecstatic cheers and Genji's own clapping.

Brigitte’s head popped out beside Rein’s shoulder and she squinted into the light. “Uh, I think someone’s trying to get by, Rein.”

Reinhardt dropped the weight to the ground and turned in place, confusion quickly replaced by a broad smile. "Genji! Done in the garden, are you? Come to join us for mission workouts? We will be doing clean and kinds next!"

"_No,_" Genji said emphatically. "Thank you. I’m more suited to different exerci-- wait, isn’t it normally called the clean and jerk?"

Brigitte groaned.

"It is!" Rein laughed. "But I am clean and _kind_, not a jerk."

“Ha, I like it!” He closed the door behind him as he entered the Forge properly. “I take it mission prep is going well?”

“But of course!” Rein shouted.

Brigitte smiled at her godfather and threw a towel at his face. “Not that there’s much prep to do. Our jobs are pretty easy. Most of what _I _need to do is pack everything up and maybe do some last minute touch-ups.” She picked up a screwdriver from her work table and twirled it, mischievous smile spreading across her face. “Rein just has to follow directions.”

“And stay in peak physical form!” Reinhardt added exuberantly, already moving into flexes--

Brigitte leveled the screwdriver at him. “Don’t you move one muscle!”

Rein froze in place, eyes comically wide. 

“Have you stretched?” she asked.

“Er--”

“That’s what I thought. You wanna flex, you gotta stretch!”

Rein sighed, letting his limbs fall back to his side. “Yes, _fraulein_.”

Genji laughed, but his mind wandered as he watched the two. He wished that it hadn’t taken so long for Brigitte to soften towards the rest of the team. Seeing her interact with Rein, it was clear that she cared deeply for her friends. What would the team dynamic look like, if they had earned her trust sooner? Would she be as eager to help Winston tinker in his lab as she was to assist her father in the Forge? Would her and Lúcio bond over innovative tech? Would Angela find a kindred spirit for bullying others into good choices?

...Okay, actually it might be a terrible idea for Brigitte to get along with Angela. They would terrorize the whole base into a healthy lifestyle.

“You can join us for stretching, if you want, Genji.”

He ruefully shook his head at Brigitte. “I need to speak with Winston, but thank you for the invitation. It was nice seeing you two!”

“And you as well, Genji!” Rein yelled, waving from an overhead arm pull. “Say hello to our fearless leader for us!”

“Sure!”

Fearless leader. Riiiiiight.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The first thing Genji noticed upon entering Winston’s lab was the rearranged furniture. Many of the work tables were shoved together, with countless tablets, papers, and notes spread across them. The holographic display table in the center of the mess displayed King’s Row in extreme detail, with an overview map of London in the corner.

On one side of the table, Winston sat in a massive bean bag chair examining the data thoughtfully as Hanzo guided him through a proposed course of action. Jesse was here, too, but he sat on the arm of a chair against the wall, chewing on his cigar as he listened.

“Working hard?” Genji asked.

Jesse tipped his hat and Winston waved, but Hanzo ignored him, not pausing in his explanation. That’s fair. He _was_ interrupting a planning meeting. Genji approached the table, studying the map like the good little brother he was.

“Given the dimensions of the bomb and the range of vehicles supporting that weight,” Hanzo said. “These are the primary routes Talon is likely to take.” Several roads glowed yellow on the holo-map. “Due to the Summit, these routes will be closed.” Three roads turned red. “Whatever force we dedicate to safeguarding the omnic ghettos will therefore need to be vigilant for these approaches.” Four roads turned green, all of which converged at a single entrance to the Rustworks ghetto. “We are lucky that there is only one place where Talon could effectively detonate the EMP.”

Winston rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It will be tough, splitting what little forces we have, but I think circumstances actually favor us overall.” He looked up, yellow eyes looking between the rest of them. “Especially since this is all centrally located.”

“Talon could’ve split their forces with no problem,” Jesse spoke up. “Attacking the Summit and the ghetto on the same day, in the same part of the city when it woulda played to their strengths to spread out tells me that they’re cocky.”

“I disagree,” Hanzo said. Genji expected Jesse to have a snappy retort for that, but his best friend simply gave Hanzo his attention. Odd. “To say they are cocky is to imply that they overestimate their capabilities. Given Talon’s resources, I am not sure that’s possible. However, they _do_ believe that they are unopposed and I will be happy to disabuse them of the notion.”

Jesse laughed. “That’s a hell of a way to say you’re ready to kick their ass.”

Hanzo huffed and Genji was stunned to see a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Genji. Is there something you need?”

He shrugged. “No. I was just looking for an excuse to leave a coffee date with Master and Torbjörn.”

“You were doin’ what-now?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“I don’t know about you guys,” Winston said with a smile. “But I’m feeling much more confident in ourselves! With all this planning and thorough preparation, we are well on track to be completely prepared for the King’s Row mission!”

“I do not think there’s such a thing as ‘completely prepared’ for any kind of mission,” Hanzo cautioned.

Winston waved him off. “Of course, of course. We are as prepared as we can be, though!”

Jesse coughed into his hand. “Maybe a little less enthusiasm for possibly marchin’ us to our deaths, yeah bud?”

“Oh, uh, yes, I suppose I should take a more, um, tempered approach.” Winston rubbed his forearm. “Oh! But I do have _one_ more piece of good news for the mission.”

Genji perked up. “Really? What’s that?”

“We have a new recruit arriving today!”

“Right before a significant mission?” Hanzo asked. Great, Genji already knew he was going to say something about ‘security’ or-- “We will not have time to integrate a new agent to our plan.” Yup. “Unless your recruit is already extremely well trained, the combat value of the team will not increase. That is not to mention that your agent may not be trustworthy--”

“So is it anyone we know?” Jesse cut over. Genji snickered at Hanzo’s expression.

“Um, probably not personally,” Winston said. “She is very well trained, though, as a pilot in the Mobile Exo-Force of the Korean Army.”

Hanzo looked sharply at Winston. “We are to have a _MEKA pilot_ join us--”

“What’s her name?” Genji asked.

“Hold up, ain’t MEKA pilots extremely high-profile? Like, K-pop band levels popular?”

“The analogy is not inappropriate--”

“When does she get here?” Genji asked, solely to have the excuse of talking over Hanzo again.

“And her name!” Jesse added. “You still haven’t told us her name.”

“Can you two not exercise patience?” Hanzo asked in exasperation. “On a more practical note, she will inevitably need a guide once she arrives, I see no purpose--”

“You want to know who it is, too!” Genji realized shrewdly.

“Genji, I _will_ murder you a second time.”

Oho! Were they finally at the point that they could joke about his murder? Excellent! He had so much material built up--

A melodic tone interrupted the conversation and they all looked up to listen to Athena’s message. “There is an unauthorized individual at the gate.”

Convenient timing. One might even say contrived. Genji narrowed his eyes at Winston. When did he learn dramatic timing?

“Sooo,” Jesse drawled. “Anyone order pizza?”

Winston leaned forward as well as he could in the bean bag. “Athena, is it our, um, anticipated guest?”

“I will ask the individual to approach the gate camera,” she replied neutrally.

“We _have_ a gate camera?” Jesse asked as Athena broadcast a currently-empty video feed. “You, uh, don’t look at that footage often, do ya Winston?”

“...I will going forward.”

“Duly noted.”

They settled into silence, listening through the camera feed as Athena asked the guest to present herself to the camera.

A young woman stepped into the frame, long brown hair hanging freely as she leaned to peer into the camera. Genji immediately recognized the carefully-cultivated ‘casual’ style clothes she wore-- he went through a similar phase right before his… let’s call it neon nightmare. You might think that her ensemble of snow-white sneakers, tight jeans, loose white t-shirt, and pink letterman jacket would be easy fashion, but the truth is that there was nothing more sinister than keeping white clothes clean. He didn’t recognize the pink triangles painted onto her face, though they seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe it was a fashion trend back home?

She blinked at the camera and then threw up a peace sign, blowing a large bubblegum and popping it loudly. “Sup, losers. It’s Hana Song. I’m here to join the rebellion or whatever.”

A wave of delight washed over Genji. Obnoxious, youthful, and insolent? Hanzo was going to _hate _her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> missed last week, so i'm double posting this week. CH29 to follow.


	29. Ready

Hana Song was a treasure. Of this, Hanzo was certain, though he had yet to hold a conversation with her.

⟪I don’t understand, Brother! How can you like her?⟫ Genji complained, leaning back in his chair and balancing it on a single leg. ⟪She’s insolent, she’s sarcastic, she’s _mean_\-- you know she challenged me in the new Mortal Kombat? And then made fun of me when I lost?⟫ Genji pitched his voice. ⟪’Are you even trying?’⟫ He slouched even further in his chair. ⟪I can deflect bullets in _real life_.⟫

Hanzo turned his head towards his tablet, careful to hide his smile from Genji. ⟪She sounds charming.⟫

⟪Charming?!⟫ Genji spluttered. ⟪Even Jesse thinks she’s obnoxious!⟫

This time he could not keep his laughter quiet, the idea of McCree being outmatched by a nineteen year old too amusing to ignore. ⟪Perhaps he is sore that she out-shot him in the range.⟫

Genji’s chair pitched onto all four legs loudly. ⟪That was a fluke! _No one_ is a better shot than Jesse!⟫

⟪Oh?⟫ Hanzo asked, far too entertained to do the right thing and console his brother. ⟪Not even yourself? Not even me?⟫

Genji squinted his eyes in calculation. ⟪I don’t believe I am more accurate than Jesse, but I’d be _very _interested in a marksmanship match between the two of you.⟫

It would not be as exciting as Genji seemed to expect. Hanzo had no peer on his chosen weapon systems. McCree would likely perform better on a wider range of firearms, but Hanzo was more than comfortable relying on his Stormbow and sniper rifle. He knew Song was similarly specialized, having only trained on one specific model of pulse pistol. 

He smirked. ⟪Perhaps we should invite Miss Song as well, if she is so proficient.⟫

Genji threw up his hands. ⟪I can’t understand why you’d like her. She’s just like I was when I was younger!⟫

That much was true. If her streaming persona at all reflected reality, Song would be charismatic, endearing, and ruthless.

⟪No,⟫ Hanzo said slyly, ⟪she is _much_ cuter than you were.⟫

⟪Brother!⟫

Hanzo raised a hand placatingly. ⟪In truth, I suspect her similarities to your younger self are why I find her so likeable.⟫

⟪But you hated me when we were younger,⟫ Genji whined.

Hanzo frowned, the sadness and grief for their childhood almost overwhelming. ⟪No, Genji. I never hated you.⟫

⟪...Oh.⟫

Hanzo sighed and picked up his tablet, disconnecting it from the mainframe. ⟪My download of the mission files is complete. Let us go to Doctor Zeigler’s office.⟫

They left Hanzo’s room without further conversation, but the silence did not last long. Of course it wouldn’t, with Genji there.

⟪We shouldn’t even be bringing Hana on the mission,⟫ Genji said, already moving past the conversational misstep. ⟪She hasn’t trained with us and she’ll only be a danger to us and herself.⟫

⟪Peace. She could hardly interrupt our plans as Winston’s assistant coordinator.⟫ Hanzo paused as they left the building’s overhang, putting up his hood to shield himself from the light rain. ⟪Consider that she is our only pilot other than Oxton, who will be a part of our protest force. Should anything happen to Oxton that prevents or delays her from conducting rapid extraction efforts, Song will be in reserves to take her place.⟫

⟪I _was_ listening at the brief,⟫ Genji muttered.

⟪Why ask what has already been discussed, then?⟫

⟪Just hoping I’ll change your mind.⟫

⟪Then you should be speaking to Winston. This is his mission, not mine.⟫

Genji snorted. ⟪If you and Jesse hadn’t planned everything for him, we’d still be waiting for the order.⟫

Unfortunately true, but ultimately irrelevant. Hanzo held the medbay door open for Genji, his little brother perking up at the sound of Doctor Zeigler's voice.

“--caused by pulse weapons should be treated primarily as burns."

Santos, Zenyatta, and Morrison sat with the doctor around a high table, studying an oversized tablet. The past few days, those four regularly met in the med bay to learn as much battlefield medicine as they could. He had meant to join them for his own benefit, but mission planning proved too time-consuming. He would have to rely on _their _expertise if he suffered an injury. The thought did not particularly comfort him.

Doctor Zeigler continued her lecture. "Of course, that means cold compresses, if available, but the most pressing thing is to bandage it so that it minimizes risk of infection.”

“Hi, guys!” Santos called out, looking relieved at a distraction. “What brings you to the med bay?”

Doctor Zeigler looked up from the tablet, smiling when she realized who they were. “Ah, Genji! And Hanzo, too, I see. You can wait in my office, I just need to finish going over this material and I'll be right in."

Hanzo nodded, but Genji lacked the patience to do anything other than immediately speak with his girlfriend. As usual.

"Is there anything you need to help prepare for the mission?”

Her smile turned rueful. “Of course there is. Additional supplies, more personnel, more _time_.”

“Wouldn't do much for us," Morrison groused. "Casualties are unavoidable."

Santos frowned intensely. “That’s _not_ very optimistic.” 

Hanzo raised his brows. He'd never before seen Santos direct that level of ire at something unrelated to Vishkar. Doctor Zeigler, meanwhile, heaved a sigh and dropped into a chair. Not a new development, then. Clearly, Morrison was better suited to making enemies rather than friends.

Morrison _tch_ed derisively. “Talon’s a sophisticated, well-funded, international terrorist organization ready to provoke a crowd of tense protesters and anti-protesters. The local enforcement will expect violence. The attendees will expect violence. Talon will _ensure _violence. It’s going to be a bloodbath no matter how effective a force we end up being.”

“Why go at all if we're just going to give up before the fight even starts?" Santos asked angrily.

“He's not entirely wrong," Genji said, either oblivious to the conflict or actively encouraging it. Hanzo could never really tell. "The Summit is always a very tense event. Every year, dozens of people are hospitalized. I am almost surprised Talon feels a need to be the catalyst."

Hanzo cleared his throat before the argument could escalate. "I believe what we’re trying to convey is that we have limited resources and the best we can do is mitigate casualties. It is extremely unlikely we can prevent them entirely."

Santos slapped his hands on the table. “Then we need to tell the locals what’s at stake! They should know what they’re risking.”

“I do not think it would dissuade them,” he cautioned. “Protestors risk their lives if they attend, but they risk the rights and livelihood of millions if they do not. Many will believe the risk justified.”

“We could certainly tip the local law enforcement,” Doctor Zeigler began diplomatically.

“I guarantee you they’re already bought out by Talon,” Santos argued.

Morrison barked a laugh. “Looks like the kid and I agree for once. Informing the government will only alert Talon that we’re on to them.”

“And that is such a bad thing?” Doctor Zeigler asked. “Perhaps they’ll reconsider their plan, be more careful and therefore less destructive.”

Her naïveté would be endearing if their lives didn't depend on experience.

“Their goal _is_ destruction,” Morrison said, Hanzo nodding in agreement.

“Because of Dorado, Talon should already know that we are on their trail,” Genji argued. “It seems that informing the government will only put us on an equal playing field.”

Santos shook his head. “All they learned in Dorado is that Soldier: 76 had an accomplice. They don’t know Overwatch is back and they don’t know that we’re going to show up at King’s Row.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Doctor Zeigler exclaimed. “Exposing ourselves is worth it if it can potentially save the lives of hundreds! Yes, Talon has likely infiltrated local forces, but the ones who are true to their mission will be able to provide emergency services.”

Morrison leaned forward, voice dropping to an even lower growl than usual. “Those are short term gains that can mean long term losses. Will we save more lives taking Talon by surprise or will we save more by fundamentally compromising our ability to act?”

“Valuing Overwatch as an organization over the people who actually _made_ the organization is what got us to this point.” Doctor Zeigler's eyes turned steely. “If you could _remember_, you would know that.”

Beside him, Genji sucked in a breath. Santos glanced at him with a questioning look, but Hanzo could only shake his head apologetically. He didn’t know anything about Morrison before his amnesia, either. Dr. Zeigler and Morrison continued to stare daggers at each other until the slam of a door broke their focus.

Hanzo turned to find McCree standing at the entrance. McCree’s eyes flicked between the group. “Uh, ain’t interruptin’ anythin’, am I?”

“I think we’ve covered enough material on triage today,” Doctor Zeigler said, tone brooking no argument. “We can continue tomorrow.”

Santos lifted his hands off the table. “Alright. I’m gonna work on my speakers. Same time tomorrow, Doc?”

“Yes. Same time.” She responded flatly.

Morrison didn’t say anything, just stood and left. He even ignored McCree’s glare as he exited.

Once the door closed behind him, Genji gently touched Doctor Zeigler's shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She did not respond immediately, busying herself with packing up her instructional materials. Genji squeezed her shoulder and she sighed, looking tired as ever. 

“He says he remembers Zurich,” she said. “If that’s true, then I can’t understand why he wouldn’t want to take every possible action to prevent it from happening again.”

Genji released her shoulder to grab her hand instead, holding it firmly. “Whatever happens, _no matter_ what happens, we will get through it together.”

"Aw," McCree said, looking genuinely pleased rather than teasing. "How cute."

Secretly, Hanzo agreed. It brought him boundless joy to see his younger brother so happy and in love, to know that he cared and was equally cared for.

...Joy that was somewhat dampened when Genji flipped them off.

Doctor Zeigler laughed. "Well, you and I might, Spätzli, but what about the rest of the team?” Her smile dimmed. “What happens to Jesse and Hanzo when John puts his goals above the team?"

Genji faltered.

“There is more than one way up a mountain,” Hanzo said, forcing as much conviction in his words as he could. He had little faith in Overwatch, but if the team were any more dysfunctional it’d collapse on itself. “It is easiest to find the paths suited to our strengths, regardless if there are better choices available. Even if Morrison is not confident in our chances, he has agreed to follow Winston's plan. We are a team first.” 

“Well that’s--” McCree cut himself off at Hanzo’s glare. “Uh, completely true. Yup. Team first, mission always.”

Doctor Zeigler laughed again, though Hanzo wasn’t sure why. “Thank you. It’s good to be reminded that we’re on the same team, even when we fight. I suppose… Having John back is bringing back old memories. Ones where Overwatch was fracturing around me." She looked down at her books and diagrams before taking a deep breath. "Let me just… take a moment to clean up. You can go ahead."

“Sure thing, Doc.”

Hanzo turned away, hearing Genji’s whispered “Would you like me to stay?” and Doctor Zeigler’s equally soft “No, it’s alright.” despite his desire to give them privacy.

McCree opened the door for him, tipping his hat as he entered, Genji close behind.

“Thank you, McCree.”

McCree waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it-- Y’all know Lúcio is havin’ me teach him English?”

“Really?” Genji asked, already interested.

“That seems an ill-advised venture,” Hanzo said, balancing his tablet on his knees once he sat down. “Having you as an instructor.”

McCree flashed him a half-hearted rude gesture.

“What’s wrong with the Babrick?” Genji asked.

“Not a damn thing!” McCree shouted, much louder than he needed to be in such a small office. “He wants to talk to the new kid without a translator. I dunno, guess he thinks it’s more romantic or something.”

“I guess that explains why he was making eyes at her the whole meeting,” Genji perched himself on Dr. Zeigler’s desk, apparently not content with the fully functioning chair _right next to it_. “Is that where he disappears to? He has been wooing Hana?”

McCree groaned. “Lord, I hope not. She’s been real buddy-buddy with Brigitte and that woman will _absolutely _not hesitate to deck him.”

“Are his advances unwanted?” Hanzo asked warily, a protective feeling swelling to the surface.

“Who knows? All he’s managed to do is stutter out a ‘hello’ with a blush redder than a farm-fresh tomato.”

“Stutter?” Genji asked. “Sunshine? Our international DJ?”

McCree gave an unconcerned shrug. “I guess there ain’t a lot of time for romantic relationships between startin’ revolutions and earnin’ platinum awards. _Although_, he did have a really good line!”

Hanzo raised his brows. “Dare we ask?”

“I figured I’d start with music-related vocab since that’s what he’s into. I asked him what his favorite song is.” McCree grinned. “You know what he said?”

Hanzo shook his head. He doubted he shared many musical interests with Santos.

“A love ballad?” Genji guessed. “Smooth jazz?” 

“Nope. He said his favorite song is _Hana._ As in, Hana _Song_.” McCree leaned forward on his knees gleefully. “Tell me that ain’t clever!”

Seeing McCree and Genji burst out in laughter, Hanzo couldn’t help but chuckle with them, even if it was not new for him. “That is one of her advertising lines,” he informed them.

McCree tilted his head. “Advertisin’?”

“Well, yes,” Hanzo said, perplexed that McCree was asking.

McCree looked between him and Genji. “Gonna need you to elaborate. I thought she was part of the South Korean Army?”

“She is,” Hanzo said, also glancing at Genji for a hint of why McCree wouldn’t know anything about the most popular MEKA pilot in the Asian Pacific.

“I do not know much about Hana, either,” his brother confessed. “I did not focus on news of home while I was with the Shambali.”

“I see,” Hanzo said slowly. It seemed so strange that neither would know, although Genji was never very attentive and McCree was an international outlaw. No matter. “Miss Song is a pilot for the South Korean Army, but before that she was a very popular game streamer. I suppose she still is, as she is known to stream combat operations--”

“She _what_?” McCree interrupted, looking shocked.

“It’s a fairly common practice,” Hanzo defended.

McCree’s mouth dropped. “In what world?! Filmin’ war for entertainment? That’s nothin’ but fucked up.”

Hanzo furrowed his brow, before understanding finally dawned. Streaming true warfare against omnics or humans _would_ be horrifying. “The MEKA team does not engage in traditional warfare. They and most militaries in the Pacific are focused on the Colossus.” 

McCree blinked. “The what?”

Genji coughed into his fist. “Kaiju-bot.”

McCree slapped his knee. “Ohhhhhh! I can’t believe I forgot about mecha-godzilla.”

“That is hardly accurate--” Hanzo began.

“It sort of is, _anija_.”

“It’s a giant-ass robot that stomps all over the biggest coastal Asian cities, eatin’ power lines and pushin’ over skyscrapers,” McCree said, stomping his boots for effect. “How is callin’ it a kaiju-bot _not_ accurate?”

“Kaiju are meant to be manifestations of natural disasters and the earth’s defense against the hubris of man,” Hanzo argued. “The mecha-arcs have always been reductive and counter to the original narrative.”

Genji and McCree stared at him.

Discomfort crawled up his spine, but he refused to show it. “What?”

“I thought Genji was bad for being a sentai-traditionalist. But _you_? A kaiju fanboy?” A grin split across McCree’s face and Hanzo was seized with the sudden inspiration to poison his next meal. “I never woulda guessed! Is _that_ why you know all about Hana?” He teased. “Are you her number one fan? Watch all her streams?”

“No,” Hanzo automatically disagreed, then paused. “Well, I _do _subscribe to her streams, but--”

“Ha!” Genji crowed.

“But so does practically all of Japan!” He defended. “Her fame and popularity is unparalleled in South Korea. Businesses close for premiere streams!”

“That so?” McCree asked.

Hanzo glared at Genji, who was still snickering. “As I said, she was already popular before becoming a national hero. Miss Song earned the world championship title in Starcraft for the first time when she was fourteen. I believe her father had been a professional gamer as well and that she learned from him.”

“‘You believe’,” Gejni snorted. “As though you do not have her entire biography memorized.”

“There is hardly a child that does not know her story!” Hanzo protested. “It was a scandal when the Army drafted her.”

“How’s that a scandal?” McCree asked. “Don’t they draft everyone at 17 over there?”

He nodded. “Yes, but there is also an option to do civic service or to be exempted entirely. The most popular entertainers are often excepted from the requirement because they are considered vital to morale. Miss Song had applied for that exemption, but the government denied it because she was one of the very, _very_ few qualified to pilot a MEKA.”

“Huh,” McCree said thoughtfully. “Spose it would be bad PR to send boy bands through boot camp.”

“I watched that K-drama,” Genji piped up. “Very good.”

“Ah, excellent, you’re still here,” Dr. Zeigler said as she stepped through the office door, walking straight to her coffee machine. “Thank you for waiting.”

“What,” McCree asked, feigning offense. “You thought we were gonna sneak off without ya?”

“When you and Genji are unsupervised?” Doctor Zeigler asked pointedly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“How could you say that, Angela?” Genji asked with an unconvincingly betrayed look. “We are not unsupervised, Hanzo is right there!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, Doc!” McCree piped up. “Hanzo was keeping us entertained tellin’ us stories about our newest member!”

“Stories about Hana?” Dr. Zeigler asked without facing him, measuring out coffee grinds instead. “I did not realize you knew her personally.”

“I do not,” He said wearily. “She is simply a high-profile figure in the Asian Pacific. Everyone who lives there knows something about her.”

“Really?” She pressed a button and the battered coffee machine groaned. She slapped it once and it began to percolate. “Rather young to be a cultural star.”

“Pro gamer turned soldier,” McCree supplied. “Fights mecha-godzilla!”

Hanzo sighed. “She does _not_\--”

“They put children on the front lines?” Doctor Zeigler interrupted, shocked.

“She was drafted at seventeen,” Genji said. “That’s standard in Korea.”

“That’s awful!”

“So’s gettin’ your city leveled every couple of years.” McCree said. “Sides, _I_ joined the military when I was seventeen.”

Dr. Zeigler shot him a skeptical look. “No, you didn’t. You forget I’ve seen your medical records. You were eighteen.”

“What, you think that was accurate?” McCree asked. “Not like I had a birth certificate on file. I lied.”

“Nice!” Genji said, giving McCree a high five. 

Children. They were both children.

“No, not nice!” Dr. Zeigler protested.

Rather than accepting his reprimand, McCree only grinned wider. “C’mon, Doc, what d’you want? Korea’s constantly gettin’ destroyed by an omnic kaiju. Hana wanted to help protect her country. Ain’t that admirable? They probably stuck her in a anti-missile defense room and had her fight from a safe distance.”

“Actually,” Hanzo said, pausing to ensure no one would interrupt him. “Miss Song was drafted against her will to be a MEKA pilot. She was frequently on the front lines and was instrumental in the most recent counteroffensive.”

“Oh,” McCree leaned back in his chair. “Damn.”

“Wait, I have a question!” Genji said while waving his hand like an obnoxious schoolchild. “You say that she is extremely popular, the poster girl for the MEKA force, and critical to their defenses-- why did they let her go?”

“Oh no,” Dr. Zeigler said, freezing with her coffee halfway to her mouth. “Don’t tell me that she’s deserted the Army. They must be looking for her-- what if they discover she’s here? They’ll claim we’re fugitives harboring fugitives!”

“That’s technically true,” Genji said, not at all helpfully.

Hanzo ignored him. “There is no cause for concern--”

“Hold on,” McCree said, digging in his ear. “Don’t think I heard that right-- did our resident conspiracy theorist just tell me _not_ to worry? Doc, I think he needs his head checked.”

...Genji would not approve of poisoning, but there were always laxatives. 

He ignored McCree’s jab. “She was injured on the last mission and placed on mandatory recovery. Apparently, she does not take well to idleness--”

“That still doesn’t explain how she is here,” Genji said.

“Perhaps if you _cease interrupting me_, I could answer your questions before you had the chance to ask them,” He said with no small amount of irritation. “Miss Song didn’t ask for permission or leave. She simply left. Of course the Army is anxious about her departure, however she has the upper hand in this situation. They can’t afford to alert Korean citizens that Miss Song was injured _or _that she left the country. She is one stream away from severely discrediting the South Korean government.”

“Oh right, they have that...” McCree snapped his fingers. “Sponsored media policy, don’t they?”

“Ah,” Dr. Zeigler said as she sat behind her desk, coffee mug already half empty. “I remember the exposé that Laoatian journalist did-- South Korea’s been caught lying about the readiness of their Army often, haven’t they? I imagine that admitting their nation’s darling is anything less than perfectly healthy would damage their citizen’s trust permanently.”

Hanzo inclined his head. “Yes. Miss Song is leveraging her influence rather masterfully.”

“For how long?” McCree asked.

Hanzo hummed. “It is hard to say. I have not spoken to her, personally.”

“I have, during her intake physical,” Dr. Zeigler said. “I asked her if she’d like access to any kind of health services to include counseling and she declined. Her injuries are only a few weeks from completely healing, though, so I’m not sure how long she plans to stay. Or _why_ for that matter.”

“Well… We all have our secrets,” Genji said. “I agree with Hanzo, though. Hana isn’t likely to expose us.”

“Shit, I almost forgot again-- speakin’ of secrets and exposure!” McCree sat a little straighter. “Blackwatch.”

Ah. Right. They were meant to be reviewing the Dorado mission.

“Yes!” Genji rubbed his hands together. “We have much to cover.”

McCree eyed Genji suspiciously. “What’re you talkin’ about, ‘we’? You weren’t even in Dorado, what d’you need to cover?”

“Me?” Genji asked in a completely unbelievable attempt at innocence. “Nothing. But I am eager to hear the details of the mission that Hanzo left out.”

Hanzo frowned in confusion. What could he have left out? His notes were always meticulous. Nothing related to the mission would escape his notice. The only thing that wasn’t important enough to make his report was-- his eyes widened. _The stakeout for McCree._

“I believe it is more important to focus on details relevant to the upcoming mission,” he said hurriedly. 

“Uh-huh,” McCree said warily, looking between them. “I’ll leave whatever weird thing y’all are anglin’ to well enough alone. Anyway, we’ve been busy since Morrison’s pasty ass showed up and it honestly slipped my mind until yesterday, but I think Sombra might be involved with Los Muertos or Talon.”

Hanzo perked up. “What gives you that impression?” He'd reprimand McCree for waiting so long to bring this up, but they _had_ been busy. 

McCree tipped his hat back.“Before the engagement, the Los Muertos contacts mentioned something about Sombra causing trouble.”

"Causing trouble is good, right?" Genji asked.

Dr. Zeigler crossed her arms. "I think that would depend on who gets the trouble."

Hanzo hummed, remembering the translation issues they had in Dorado. “Are you certain it was _Sombra_ or is it possible they were speaking of ‘shadows’ in a general sense?”

McCree shrugged. “No idea. It could be either, but I don’t believe in coincidences. While I can't say for sure whose side Sombra is on, I’d rather Sombra and Talon not be associated at all-- _especially _if Sombra’s got hands in our servers.”

“Isn’t it still possible that Sombra is legitimately Blackwatch?” Dr. Zeigler asked.

“Well, yeah," McCree drew out, scratching his chin. "But like we said before that doesn’t really mean much. Sombra might have been Blackwatch before and still currently be Los Muertos. Or Talon.”

“So, really, we haven’t learned anything,” Genji concluded.

McCree snorted. “Pretty much.”

“Is there anything that occurred during the Dorado mission that _does_ impact our knowledge?” Hanzo asked.

They all looked at McCree.

He blinked. “Well, uh, Morrison, obviously. He’s alive. That changes everything we know about the Fall.”

Hanzo frowned in doubt. “All we know about the Fall is how much we do not know.”

“But we know even less now!" McCree burst out. "Morrison couldn’t have been at the Zurich HQ and survive the blast!”

Dr. Zeigler shook her head. “There’s no way we can say that for certain. There were people who survived relatively close to the blast, thanks to some quirks of building construction.”

“Yeah, but Reyes--”

“Was physically crushed beneath the building,” Dr. Zeigler said, a strain in her voice. “All that had to happen for Jack to live is for the building to create an alcove on the initial collapse and get out before the secondary collapses.”

“It may be that we will never learn what truly happened that night.” Hanzo turned on his tablet. “I am more concerned with preventing a repeat performance in the coming days.”

“We’re just gonna drop it like that?” McCree demanded. “Sunshine and Hana get scrutinized but the guy with swiss-cheese memory is just fine?”

“We can revisit it later if you would like,” he said with no real interest, too busy navigating through his files. “But we should at least discuss the plan we presented tonight.”

McCree grumbled unhappily, slouching in his chair. “Fine. Genji, Doc, how do you think the brief went?”

“I thought it was good,” Genji said. “You both assisted Winston and I don’t think there was much confusion amongst the members. The clarifications and background you gave preempted any questions I thought of.”

Dr. Zeigler took a large draught of coffee before speaking. “I’m not familiar with the tactical aspect of operation planning or execution, but I agree. Even those of us without experience or with a language barrier, such as Lúcio, had a good understanding of the mission by the end.”

“I also think it went well,” Hanzo said, pleased with the approval so far. “I was not thrilled with Winston’s method of briefing, starting with the mission and having to go back to cover weather and situation, but I do not believe it was a significant detriment.”

McCree nodded. “Yeah, the context is important. Ending with the weather like he did means that people have to mentally go back and add in the cold and rain instead of considering it as we went through the plan.”

“One thing I am concerned about,” Dr Zeigler said, “Is how we came up with Talon’s schemes of maneuver? If they went through so much effort to get the EMP bomb, I do not understand why they would direct the bulk of their forces to the protest instead of dedicating them to the delivery and detonation of the EMP.”

“Why didn’t you bring that up at the meeting?” McCree asked.

Dr. Zeigler fiddled with her mug, flustered. “Well, I assumed that it had to do with Blackwatch’s experience with Talon.”

McCree’s face briefly scrunched in frustration. “I mean, yeah, it does. More importantly, there were probably others who were wonderin’ the same thing. There are ways to explain Talon operatin’ procedures without outin’ Blackwatch. The reason Talon will be focusin’ most of their forces at the protest is because it’s the main supportin’ effort for the EMP.” McCree leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Local governance will already be focusin’ on the Summit because of the international dignitaries and the protests. The security in the omnic slums will be even more negligible than usual. All Talon has to do is push the protests over the edge-- and they _will_ be on the edge-- and the situation will snowball, leavin’ the approach to the Rustworks wide open.”

“It will not take significant effort to detonate the payload,” Hanzo added. “Remote operation will likely not be possible because of the Faraday Cage around the Rustworks, so we can assume that personnel without augmentations will have to push the button.”

“Ah,” Dr. Zeigler said. “I see. So because they can only use unaltered agents, you believe that they will be limited on who they can send? Most Talon operatives have these alterations?”

“Shit, at this point, most _people _have alterations.” McCree held up his mechanical arm as evidence. “The ratio only increases in military communities and I don’t think it’d be any different for Talon. And yeah, I know this mostly based on my personal experience fighting Talon and I don’t blame you for hesitatin’ in askin’, but I feel bad that I didn’t think to explain it in the brief.” He paused before muttering, “Hope no one else was holdin’ on to questions.”

“So, just between us,” Genji began, “what are our realistic chances of success for this mission?”

Hanzo grimaced and beside him, he could see McCree did as well. Perhaps bluntness would be best. “They are… not good.”

“Well,” McCree hedged, “I’d say it depends on how you define success. Will we be able to prevent civilian casualties, destroy the EMP before it can detonate, and extract ourselves without causing an international incident or experiencing any losses? No. But can we do three of those tasks instead of four?” He paused. “Also no.”

“I was hoping for a more optimistic outlook,” Dr. Zeigler admitted.

McCree shrugged apologetically. “Personally, my priorities are making sure all of _us _get out of King’s Row alive, then preventing civilian casualties, _then _destroying the EMP, and at the bottom is preventing international incidents. Fair warnin’, I am _terrible_ at avoidin’ those, so I’m just writin’ it off as a lost cause now.”

Dr. Zeigler rubbed at her temples. “But what about the actual plan? Will it work?”

“We would not have presented it if we did not believe we could succeed,” Hanzo asserted, wishing he felt half the confidence he projected. “You would notice that almost all of our forces are aligned towards the Summit and preventing civilian casualties with only Morrison screening the Rustworks for the EMP.”

“Morrison is unreliable,” McCree said. “He doesn’t play well with others and he doesn’t listen to orders. Puttin’ him as a lone wolf with his own mission plays to his strengths and mitigates his weaknesses.”

“Ah, is that why you put Winston in the rear?” Genji asked. “To mitigate his weakness as a leader?”

“That is…” Hanzo internally fought over word choice for a moment. “Harshly put, but not untrue. Winston is excellent at monitoring data and relaying information, so having him at the communication node _is_ critical to the mission.”

“It just so happens to remove him from the playing field so he can’t tactically fuck up our day,” McCree added.

“And if he attempts to direct us anyway?” Genji challenged.

McCree slapped Hanzo’s shoulder and he decided McCree deserved _none _of his cooking, not even the poisoned variety. 

“Hanzo will be our eyes in the sky,” McCree said. “He’ll be on the roof to prevent enemy snipers from moving in, but also to override Winston’s decisions if necessary. We explained it to Winston that relaying the situation and waiting for orders can cost lives, so he very enthusiastically agreed to the plan.”

“You have thought of everything,” Genji said approvingly.

“But if Hanzo needs to fight?” Dr. Zeigler asked anxiously. “That means we won’t be coordinated.”

McCree shrugged again, though it seemed stiffer than usual. More tense? “It’s a risk we’ll have to assume. Worst case scenario, Winston directs us and we’ll just have to put his orders through a common sense filter.”

She didn’t seem assured by that. “But if it’s a large enough concern to intentionally sideline Winston for his own mission--”

“Look, Doc.” Was it frustration or fear in McCree’s voice? “I’m just gonna say it straight: people are going to die in two days.”

Dr. Zeigler deflated. She turned to him and Hanzo found he could not hold her gaze. What McCree said was truth.

“We have done our best to plan for every eventuality,” he said, “But McCree is correct. We do not have the personnel, influence, or capability to protect everyone.”

“But what about…” Dr. Zeigler trailed off, not bothering to finish her sentence. He could tell from the look in her eyes that she understood, she knew they were right. She simply didn’t want to believe it.

McCree took on a softer tone. “I’m not bein’ mean or pessimistic, Doc. The reality is that this mission is too big for us to ignore, but too big for us to win. It may come down to our lives or civilian lives. Winston might say it’s our duty as Overwatch to make that trade, but the reality is I’d trade all of King’s Row for any one of y’all.”

He turned to McCree, shocked. Surely he didn’t mean to include Hanzo in that statement? But McCree refused to look at him, though he knew McCree could see him staring.

Dr. Zeigler was similarly moved. “Jesse…”

“We’re _all_ coming back from this mission,” McCree said with intensity. “I don’t care what it takes.”

“Then let us hope it will not take everything,” Genji said quietly.

The silence was not a comfort. There was no solidarity in it, only solemn contemplation. It was more than the protestors at stake. More than the thousands of omnics in the ghettos. It could be the beginning of a second Crisis, and they were the only ones standing in the way. Overwatch. 

A team of thirteen against an army, in the defense of millions.

Thirteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLUF: No new chapters til August.
> 
> Long version: So i'm exhausted and real life is about to ramp up in pretty much all aspects for the coming months, so i'm not gonna post any new chapters until August. I haven't quite gone through my backlog, but looking at the next five chapters-- they've all got *serious* cliff hangers, so I figure this is the best place to pause on. And hey, maybe the move/workload won't be as bad as I'm expecting it to be and I can start posting in June or earlier! Def by August though.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who's been on this journey with me so far and give a hat-tip to all the future-peeps who show up during the hiatus-- it's been wild and I'm really excited for us to get to the King's Row fight and the second half of this fic! Stay golden, y'all.


	30. Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: none for this particular chapter, but i want to give the heads up that the King's Rows chapters involve protests turning violent (because of external forces). I had written this literally last year so I had no idea the environment I'd be posting it in. I will continue to give by-chapter warnings.

The rain drummed a steady, low rhythm on the rooftops. It was dull on the brick and sharp on the plastic tarp that shielded Hanzo from roaming eyes. City lights weakly peered through the curtains of rain, his only source of illumination with dawn still two hours away.

So Hanzo waited patiently, unmoving. Silent and watchful.

Everything in its place. He had identified all defensive positions on the rooftops surrounding the plaza and prepared them accordingly. No matter if he needed a better angle or if enemy fire forced him to relocate, he had alternate, subsequent, and supplementary positions to fall back on. The ground team would not want for his support.

Hanzo briefly adjusted the tarp serving as his lean-to, redirecting the water flow away from his equipment. The stream splashed to the cobblestone six stories below, beating a rapid staccato on the hotel’s awning. The most conspicuous Overwatch agents were inside the hotel, the risk of recognition too great to have them integrate with the yet-to-gather mass of protesters. McCree had his bounty, of course, while Morrison wore a dead man’s face. There was no danger associated with Reinhardt’s identity, but his Crusader armor was another matter. All three would wait until he gave them the signal.

Technically, they were to wait until Winston’s signal, but he reserved the right to alter the timing of that order as he saw fit. However long it took Winston to assess the situation on top of the four-second lag in communications could add up to an unacceptable delay. Seconds were precious in combat. Time wasted could easily translate to life wasted.

Distantly, the booming clangs of Big Ben marked the fifth hour.

Low muttering slowly swelled louder and louder. Hanzo peeked over the edge of the roof briefly to see a mass of omnics traveling through the plaza, but he could tell they were not there for the Summit and therefore not his concern. These workers were all service models, vaguely humanoid shaped but without the capacity for facial expression-- ideal for customer service. At least a dozen made their way into the hotel Hanzo roosted on, none the wiser to his presence. The rest continued on the only road through the plaza, though ‘road’ might be a generous description.

King’s Row was one of the oldest historical sectors of London and its infrastructure reflected that; the cobblestone pathways could only support one vehicle at a time. The vast majority of commuters traveled on foot, walking to or from the subway next to the Rustworks in the north. To travel south was only to travel deeper into the historical district, where traditional vehicles were completely banned and hover vehicles were heavily regulated. Of course, only the wealthy could afford to view those limitations as charming. The omnics walking past Hanzo’s hotel would be the retail assistants, cleaners, and other low-skilled service providers in the stores and homes of King Row’s affluent.

...The warmth in his hands was fading. 

With numb fingers, he pulled the drained electric hand warmer from his gloves, replacing it for the one on the no-light charger. Operations may not begin until hours after dawn, but he refused to ignore the risk of preemptive actions on the part of Talon. If scouts or even another sniper found him, he would not be unprepared with stiff fingers. Heat slowly seeped through his hands again. Satisfied, he continued to scan the plaza.

A handful of the omnic workers were gathered at the base of the Mondatta Memorial, lighting candles in the offering alcove. The omnics clasped their hands and bowed to the shrine, the warm glow of offerings glinting off their faceplates. Given today’s date, it made sense. It was not a coincidence that the Omnic Rights Summit was held on the anniversary of the Shambali leader’s assassination. Truly, it was a shame that the monk’s death held more political promise than his life. Though he supposed nothing rejuvinated a cause like murder.

A crack rang through the plaza.

Hanzo’s attention snapped to the source of the sound-- a woman-- but she was only struggling with a snapped umbrella. He squinted, refusing to relax at an apparently benign action. She was dressed in an excessive number of layers, even for this dreary morning. Anything could be within those layers, or within that umbrella, if that’s what it truly was. The woman shook the umbrella in frustration, shoving it into an oversized tote bag when it did not obey her will. She stomped her way across the plaza, throwing open a door and entering the conference center.

It was only a suspicion. A lingering sense of distrust. There was nothing objectively wrong with the way the woman conducted herself. Hanzo clicked on his comms anyway.

“Tesla, Storm. I believe Talon is emplacing assets.”

There was no static as he patiently waited for a response.

“Copy,” Winston said. “Do you want to take any action?”

The woman was already in the building. Hanzo could not afford to give up his position, nor would it be wise to risk exposure of the agents in the hotel. He could ask Reinhardt to send Miss Lindholm, but ultimately, what could he expect to gain by tracking down the woman? If she was Talon, they couldn’t interrupt her actions lest they alert her superiors to Overwatch’s presence.

“Negative, no action. Merely reporting enemy movement.”

“Oh! That’s a good idea, thank you for telling me,” Winston said. Hanzo briefly closed his eyes, mourning any chance of competence this mission might’ve had. “Okay, uh, understood. Over.”

“Out.”

He released the comm switch and settled deeper in his roost. Four more hours.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse briefly lifted a blind, frowning at the soupy fog just beyond his window. It had been raining for hours and now they had to deal with a fog bank? The weather just did not want to play nice today. Hanzo’d already pinged the team to let them know he’d have extremely limited visibility. Hopefully it’d clear some before the actual action started. Jesse let the blind fall back into place and looked back in the hotel room. 

Reinhardt sat at the breakfast table, knees nearly to his chest in a chair that would’ve been fine for any sensibly-sized person. The table itself sagged in the middle, struggling to support the massive spread of food that Reinhardt was working through. Jesse’d never really thought to do the math on how many calories a guy like Reinhardt would need to keep up that much muscle mass and even with a visual in front of him, he still couldn’t do it. Looking at that spread, all he could see was dollar signs. Maybe the real reason the Bundeswehr never reinstated the Crusader Battalion was because they cost too damn much to feed.

“Are you seriously going to eat all of that?” Morrison asked from his seat on one of the double beds, sounding somewhere between disgusted and impressed.

“You seriously going to wear all that?” Brigitte snapped, angrily flipping a page of her magazine. 

As much as Jesse was already tired of their bickering-- it was too god damned early for shouting, even if Morrison deserved it-- she had a point. Morrison had chosen to wear his Soldier: 76 getup-- visor and all. Hell, the leather jacket still had burns and bullet holes from the Dorado mission.

Morrison flipped her off.

“Of course I will eat it all!” Reinhardt interrupted in his quietest shout. “You would not remember, John, but once you challenged me to an eating contest during the Crisis.” He dipped a sausage into a practical tub of syrup, continuing his story between bites. “Our team had come across a bakery in an evacuated town. The residents would not be permitted to return until weeks later, so we thought that it would be better to eat it than let it go to waste. You bet me a whole night’s worth of drinking that you could--” Reinhardt paused, staring at the plate of sausages in surprise.

“I could what?” Morrison asked.

Jesse rolled his eyes. Looked like pretending Jack Morrison and John Doe were two different people didn’t last long.

Brigitte peeked over her engineering magazine as the silence stretched, face scrunched in concern, hypersensitive to anything her mentor does. “Rein? Are you okay? Is the food bad? I can run to a deli--”

“No!” Rein protested with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, fraulein, I did not mean to worry you. It is just... It has occurred to me that Ja--, er, John won’t remember all the bets we have made in the past.”

Brigitte blinked and looked at Morrison, who shrugged. “Yeah?”

“And,” Reinhardt continued excitedly, “That means we can reset the challenge counter!”

Jesse laughed. “You mean he won’t have the good sense to know when he’s beat. Never thought you’d be one to play dirty, Rein.”

“Me?” Reinhardt asked, splaying a hand on the tank top he wore. “Never!”

“Yeah,” Brigitte drew out. “I don’t see how tricking an amnesiac into bets is honorable.”

“If he was tricking me,” Morrison said in an annoyed tone, “Wouldn’t he be talking about this without me present? You just don’t think he can beat me.”

Brigitte glared at him, opening her mouth to retort--

“It won’t be the same challenges!” Reinhardt protested. “Here, I have one now!”

“Now?” Jesse asked. “We’ve gotta mission in a matter of hours.”

“It will be fine!” Rein leaned forward, one hand on his knee and a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “I bet that Brigitte can get the receptionists’ number before John can.”

Brigitte snorted, but stood from her reclining position on the bed and began wrapping her hair in a ponytail.

Morrison looked at her in confusion, then back to Rein. “Isn’t the point of a challenge to have you participate?”

“I’m his squire,” Brigitte said imperiously. “Everything I do is a reflection on him.”

“That’s not the same--”

“So you cede victory?” She asked, looking down her nose at him.

“First to get the receptionists’ number, huh?” Morrison drummed his fingers, arms still crossed. “Private number, I assume.”

“But of course!” Rein cheered.

“Hmph.” Morrison glared at Brigitte, who met the stare levelly. 

The seconds trickled past, but neither made a move. Shaking his head, Jesse looked through the blinds again to check on the weather-- only to whip around at the sound of scuffling. He barely caught the flash of their feet as Brigitte and Morrison raced out of their room and down the corridor, the sound of their footsteps fading before the door could even click close.

Reinhardt chuckled, digging into his breakfast once more. “Perhaps now they won’t be so eager to fight each other,” he said, winking at Jesse.

Jesse blinked before reseating his hat with a smile. Sometimes he got so wrapped up in Rein’s jolly facade that he forgot a seasoned, clever veteran hid behind the grins. “Did that trick often in the old days?”

“Yes,” Rein said with a subdued smile. “It was always the best way to redirect Jack and Gabriel’s competitive spirits.”

Jesse’s smile faded.

Reinhardt glanced at him and frowned. “My apologies, Jesse. Jack’s return has put me in a... nostalgic mood.” He swallowed a large bite of chicken and sighed. “I wish there had been time for a story night before this mission.”

Jesse winced. Shit, now look what he’s done. Gone and made Rein regretful. “There’s always when we get back,” he reminded Rein.

Rein shrugged indifferently. “One never knows who will return from the battlefield.”

“You can’t say shit like that!” Jesse said, frantically searching for something in the room made of wood and settling on Rein’s chair. He managed to walk to it, instead of leaping at it like he wanted to, and knocked on it soundly. “You want this mission to implode?”

Rein snorted and shook his head, but relented to Jesse’s insistent stare and finally knocked on his chair. “I did not take you for superstitious.”

He gave Rein a scandalized look. “It ain’t superstition, it’s good sense. Don’t ask for trouble if you don’t want it to come find you!”

Reinhardt burst out laughing, the table shaking precariously when he slapped it. Jesse grinned despite himself, happy that Rein was pulling out of the melancholy. Wasn’t a good look on him.

“Sometimes,” Rein said, wiping moisture from the corner of his eyes. “Sometimes, you remind me of Reyes.”

“Heh, really?” Jesse asked awkwardly, definitely not feeling warm around the collar.

“Absolutely!” Rein piled scrambled eggs on a pancake before rolling it up like a taco. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were related! Or at least served together. I picked up a lot of habits from General von Alder, after all.”

That was getting uncomfortably close to the truth. “Well, he was my commander.”

“For your entire base, yes?” Rein shrugged and ate another pancake-taco. “That is not quite the same as belonging to the same unit.”

That was true, from a certain point of view. According to official record, Reyes was commander for the Grand Mesa military base. According to official record, McCree was also stationed there. According to records that existed only on heavily classified and restricted servers, the Grand Mesa military base was the headquarters for Blackwatch. 

“Well, leaders shape the culture,” he hedged. “Wouldn’t be surprised if some of his personality trickled down to the grunts like me.”

“Perhaps.” Reinhardt sighed heavily. “It was such a shock to learn he was the one behind the Zurich bombing.”

“That’s--” Wrong, a lie, bullshit! He sucked in a breath. “Yeah. A shock.”

“Sometimes I wonder… whether it would have been better for Reyes to have died a hero in the Crisis. Maybe if all of us had died, instead of carrying on past the war that made us, we would not have caused so much trouble.”

He blinked a few times, caught off guard. “Uh, pretty sure there’s a few options other than ‘fight forever’ and ‘death’. Ever hear of retirement?”

Rein’s shoulders shook with amusement. “Retirement? For me? Ha! Never. I will fight to the end!”

“Retirement could be the end!”

“Here, you like lucky things, yes?” Rein shoved a small plastic cup of orange juice in his hand, keeping hold of the carton for himself. “Let us toast!”

“Rein, you can’t just change the subject like--”

“To a good life, a good fight, and a good night. Prost!” Rein tipped his head back, drinking the entire carton of juice in one go. Jesse shook his head and raised his cup. Ignoring a toast was bad luck.

Of course, the door crashed open before he could confront Rein. “I’ve got it!” Brigitte shouted, barely making it through the entrance before Morrison elbowed past her.

“I got it first!” Morrison argued, thrusting a piece of paper in front of him.

“Brigitte was first through the door,” Jesse said just for the venomous glare Morrison shot at him. 

“Then our champion is decided!” Rein declared. “Brigitte wins!”

“Bullshit!”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Though it was considerably brighter now that the sun was up, the air was still damp and chilly. Water drops occasionally fell from the sky, but not consistently enough to call it rain. The clouds still hung low, but thankfully the fog had receded, and Genji thought that he could see the roof where Hanzo was posted. At any rate, the poor weather didn’t seem to dampen the spirits of the crowd. The volume of the assembled protesters grew and grew as they drew closer to the plaza until they entered the square itself and the noise peaked at a dull roar.

“We’ve entered the plaza,” Genji muttered into his commlink. He didn’t need to tap his commlink since it was built into his faceplate, but he still had to be careful not to draw attention to himself as they walked down the path to the conference center. Today, to the people in the crowd, he was simply an assistant to Master Zenyatta.

From the corner of his visor, he could see Master waving serenely at the assembled protesters, who enthusiastically returned the gesture. As tradition-- and law enforcement-- dictated, all the protesters on the north side were pro-omnic and as such, many could recognize the Shambali robes Master wore. His attire was more complex than usual, with several more layers than his typical outfit, but the formality was appropriate for this occasion. Genji had even considered donning his acolyte robes, but he didn’t want to risk damaging them in the coming fight.

“Disturbance near the Mondatta Memorial,” Hanzo’s voice came over the comm. “Contained, low likelihood of spreading.”

Genji stood as tall as he could, but there was no hope of seeing over the sea of posters held aloft, let alone across the entire plaza. Only the tallest part of the Memorial was visible, Mondatta’s likeness passively staring down at the people beneath him. He couldn’t hear anything that might count as a ‘disturbance’, but that didn’t really comfort him.

Somewhere in that teeming mass of bodies, the crowd control team was standing by, with Lena and her girlfriend on the pro-omnic side to facilitate civilian evacuation. It was risky, having Emily assist them. Lena herself didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of having her girlfriend on the front lines, but apparently Emily planned to attend the protests with or without her approval. Genji could relate to Lena’s distress. He wasn’t able to persuade his girlfriend to wait with Winston, either.

“Everything fine, Tracer?” he asked lowly.

“Can’t wait to see the Shambali delegation!” She chirped back-- which Genji took to be a ‘yes’. Indirect answers were expected. Lena couldn’t cover her face like he could, since she was supposed to blend in with everyone else.

“Sunshine, have you entered the Summit?” Winston asked over comms, voice warbling with nerves.

“Yes,” Lucio said through a burst of static.

Genji frowned. Seemed that the signal from the convention center would be poorer than they hoped.

“Only waiting on Shambali and--” another burst of static-- “before we start.”

Genji only half listened, keeping his head on a swivel. The pro- and anti-omnic factions might be separated, but it would be a simple matter to sneak around the police barrier to cause trouble for the other side. It hadn’t helped Mondatta, after all. But Hanzo was vigilant on the rooftops, so no snipers would take them unawares today and Genji himself would not allow Master to fall to the same fate as Mondatta. They already had one martyr for their cause, they didn’t need another. 

The dense crowd pressed in from all sides, the temporary metal fences scrapping on the cobblestones as they inched forward, mimicking the sickly grating feeling in his stomach. He scanned every face in the crowd, warily evaluating each one for signs of danger or deceit. It was a diverse gathering, with omnics and humans jostling against each other, children perched on their parent’s shoulders and elderly leaning on their younger friends. Which of them weren’t who they appeared to be? Who worked for Talon?

...How many would be leaving the plaza alive?

⟪No sparrow would land in your palm today, Genji,⟫ Master said, slowing to match Genji’s pace.

He thought his words over carefully, knowing that speaking Japanese did not guarantee privacy if Talon were watching. ⟪It is difficult to be relaxed in such a… tense environment, Master.⟫

Master inclined his head. ⟪We hope to achieve many things today. Suffering is merely the difference between our wants and reality. Control over reality is limited. Control over ourselves is guaranteed.⟫

Genji thought it over, trying to decide what Master wanted to tell him. ⟪Many want peace. Is such a thing not worth suffering for?⟫

Master lightly shrugged his shoulders. ⟪Perhaps. But if we forever pursue peace through suffering, how will we ever know it?⟫

Genji sighed and consciously released the heat radiators in his shoulders. There was no hiss of steam, since he was not physically exerting himself, but he felt slightly more relieved nonetheless.

Master stopped and Genji stopped with him, looking up at the double doors before them. The Summit was just on the other side. The Summit and Talon.

⟪Are you ready?⟫ Master asked.

Genji nodded resolutely and pushed open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biweekly updates.
> 
> Remember when I took a 6 month break from posting with the intent to get a huge chunk of writing done but then a global Pandemic broke out and I was designated an essential worker and also had to move across the country and also I actually got NO writing done? Yeah. Yeaaaaaaaaaah.


	31. Relapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barely finished on time, didn't have a chance to thoroughly review for errors, feel free to let me know if you catch one!

The Meridian Hotel was completely disappointing. Nothing recommended it as historical or significant, let alone as the annual host for the Omnic Rights Summit or as ground zero for Talon’s latest apocalyptic scheme. It could have been a conference center anywhere in the world, with neutral colors, a dark patterned carpet designed to hide stains, and hundreds of chintzy chairs and well-used tables. Its dimly lit space was… dreary, maybe even creepy. Genji looked up at the expansive glass ceiling above him. Maybe it was beautiful when it was new or on sunny days, but today the rainy weather only allowed a weak, watery light to shine through the dirt-speckled glass. It reminded him unpleasantly of biotic tanks. He automatically swept a hand over his neck, silently reassuring himself he wasn’t hooked up to wires anymore.

⟪Are you well?⟫ 

Genji shook his head slightly, trying to shake the sensation. Was it his mind playing tricks on him or did Master’s voice sound like it was underwater-- or like _he_ was underwater? A violent chill came over him and a cold, cloying mass of dread coiled in his chest. 

⟪Genji?⟫

He took a deep breath, forcing the feeling back down. He _wasn’t_ underwater. He was at the Summit, with Master at his side, on a mission for Overwatch. Not Blackwatch. ⟪Simply unpleasant memories. I--⟫

In the crowd, a cackle, and the words died in his throat, body suddenly too stiff to move. With wide eyes, he jerked to the left, searching. He heard her. He _knows_ he heard her. He’d recognize that damn demon voice anywhere.

⟪Genji.⟫ Master’s voice was muted, distant, urgent. ⟪Come back to me. _Genji_.⟫

Shuriken blades slid from his wrist into his hand. He wasn’t going back. Never again. 

⟪Recite with me. The Three Shelters.⟫

She wanted him to be a weapon? He’ll _be_ a weapon. He stalked forward, but only made it two paces before a pressure on his wrist stopped him. He glared, but Master didn’t budge.

Instead, he chanted. ⟪I take shelter in the Iris, the spark that guides us.⟫

Genji tried to wrench free, turning back to the crowd to scour for the _kitsune_-faced bitch with corpse-white skin. 

⟪I take shelter in the Path,⟫ Master continued. ⟪One paved with compassion and love.⟫

⟪Release me!⟫ He can _feel_ her harpy’s claws rooting around in his chest. He can _feel _it!

⟪I will release you only once you recite the shelters,⟫ Master said firmly. ⟪I take shelter in the Community, that sings the chants in harmony.⟫

⟪...take shelter…⟫ He mumbled, not really focused on the words, still looking for her.

⟪I take shelter in the Iris,⟫ Master encouraged.

⟪I take shelter in the Iris,⟫ Genji finally said. The phantom talons piercing his lungs loosened. ⟪The spark that guides us.⟫

⟪I take shelter in the Path.⟫

⟪I take shelter in the Path.⟫ He retracted his shuriken, reaching out to balance himself on Master’s shoulder. ⟪One paved with compassion and love.⟫

Master finally released his wrist, squeezing his shoulder in return. ⟪I take shelter in the Community.⟫

Numbly, he allowed Master to pull him to an out-of-the-way corner, clear from the heavy traffic in the doorway. He blinked, belatedly remembering to repeat the Third Shelter. ⟪I take shelter in the Community, that sings the chants in harmony.⟫

⟪Good. You’re doing excellent, Genji.⟫

Now against the wall, Genji tilted his head back. Stupid. What a _stupid_ time to fall into old memories.

⟪Let us observe our environment. How does that sound?⟫

Sure. Fine. Already wasted time having a relapse in the foyer, why not _actually_ do his job? He straightened out of his slouch and scanned the conference room with purpose.

A steady stream of attendees entered from doors on both ends of the conference hall, continuing to fill the already comfortably populated room. There are two sets of double doors on the back wall, but they clearly lead further into the building and the service door on the opposite side was labeled ‘A/V Closet’, so that also couldn’t be considered as a possible exit route. Theoretically, Talon could’ve placed an agent in there, but a single agent was unlikely to present the same scale of threat as Winston had templated. Still… He could find Lúcio. It wouldn’t be _as_ suspicious for a DJ to stick his nose in an audio room.

Irritated, he rolled his wrist, trying to loosen his still-tense muscles. He was losing focus. His primary concern wasn’t Talon. It was the safety of the attendees, and there were only two primary exits to facilitate an evacuation-- but those doors, the ones they just entered from, only led out to the Plaza, the most likely site for Talon’s main attack. Looked like Hanzo’s plan to shelter in place was the most sensible after all. Disappointing.

⟪I see no immediate threats, Master, and the layout supports our original plan.⟫

⟪That is excellent news!⟫ Master enthused. ⟪Come. Let us check in with our friends before finding our seats. There are so many tables, it may take us a few minutes.⟫

Genji narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ⟪Master, the Shambali representative always has a seat on the panel. We will not have to search for our place.⟫

⟪Oh! Of course,⟫ Master tittered a laugh. ⟪I had forgotten.⟫

He snorted. There was zero chance that Master ‘forgot’ the Shambali was one of twelve parties that held a permanent seat on the Summit’s council, but there _was _a high chance that he thought feigning ignorance would cheer his student. Genji could... appreciate that. ⟪I can pinch you if you’re worried you’re dreaming.⟫ His voice still sounded terse, not quite hitting the joking tone he was aiming for, but he thought Master would overlook that.

Sure enough, Master turned to him, his photoreceptors softly glowing with joy. ⟪I can hardly believe this is happening!⟫ He whisper-shouted excitedly. ⟪I’m representing our entire faith for the Summit-- this is history in the making, history _I’m_ making! Echo will be beside herself with envy when she finds out what she missed.⟫

And while the pressure and trepidation didn’t disappear entirely, the band around his chest _did _loosen watching Master’s giddy excitement. ⟪Let us hope the history we make today will have a positive impact, then.⟫ He paused. ⟪And thank you. For distracting me.⟫

Master gently rested a hand on his shoulder. ⟪Of _course_. I-- ⟫

Genji held his arm firm as Master stumbled against it and dropped into a ready stance. The small blur that had darted in front of them halted abruptly. Genji grit his teeth. It was only a child. What an excellent guard he makes, leaping at shadows and threatening children.

This time when Master pushed against his arm, he let it drop. Master crouched down without kneeling, mindful not to let his ceremonial robes press against the floor.“Hello there, young one. I hope my student did not startle you.”

The young girl tore her eyes from Master’s robes. “Your student?” She looked between them thoughtfully, then gasped. “Shambali! Are you a master? Baba said there would be Shambali monks here today, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get to meet you, I--” She cut herself off abruptly, briefly looking embarrassed before puffing out her chest and offering her hand. “I am Efi Olalde!”

Master shared an amused glance with Genji before shaking her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Efi. I am Tekartha Zenyatta and I _am _representing the Shambali today.”

Breathless joy stole across her face and she all but sprinted away-- only to rush back. “Oh! Um, I’m going to go get Orisa, please don’t go anywhere!”

⟪What an excitable child,⟫ Master said indulgently.

Genji watched her disappear into the crowd, calculating. ⟪Are there usually children within the Summit?⟫

Master gave a small shrug. ⟪Delegates who bring their children usually take advantage of child care services in the hotel. If she is here in the Summit, her guardians must believe she will value the experience.⟫

⟪Hm.⟫ Definitely not what he wanted to hear, given the reason _they_ were here today. He was regretting not alerting the authorities. Even an anonymous bomb tip might’ve at least kept the kids at home... ⟪Who do you think her friend is?⟫

“Excuse me! Pardon me!” On cue, a large, brightly-colored, quadrupedal omnic carefully picked her way through the crowd, the delegates parting before her lest they be trampled beneath her hooves. Genji leaned back on his heels when he recognized her base model from the OR15 line, though her body was heavily modified from factory standard.

Efi darted in front of the omnic, waving her arm with a flourish. “Presenting Orisa Olalde!”

Orisa waved cheerily. “Hello,” she carefully enunciated. “I am OR15-A. Your safety is my primary concern!”

Hair beads clacked as Efi hid her face behind her hands. “Orisa, nooo! We don’t say that when we’re not working.”

Orisa blinked. “Oh! Sorry, I am still new at this.”

“What joy it is,” Master said warmly. “To learn things for the first time.” He dipped his head respectfully. “Greetings, Orisa, my name is Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

Orisa watched him curiously before mimicking the bow to the best of her ability. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Zenyatta!”

“He’s _Master_ Zenyatta,” Efi stage-whispered.

“Apologies, Master Zenyatta.” Orisa turned expectantly towards Genji and he dipped into a quick bow.

“I am Genji.”

Orisa repeated the bow enthusiastically, knocking into a nearby table as she did so. The glasses and centerpiece rattled warningly, but Orisa barreled on. “It is a pleasure to meet you, as well, Genji! Efi said you are both from the Shambali Temple?”

“That we are,” Master confirmed. Genji stayed silent, not confident in his ability to not be a total Hanzo at the moment. Luckily, their new friends didn’t press him.

Orisa clasped her hands in front of her earnestly while she stared at Master. “I wish to learn about the Iris,” she said firmly. “Can you teach me, Tehkartha Zenyatta?”

“_Master_ Tekhartha Zenyatta!” Efi squeaked.

Master laughed. “I would be happy to teach you! It is rare that I meet one with such an unformed mind. Shall I begin with the Dawn Sutta?”

“Oh yes, please, Efi and Orisa both responded enthusiastically, shuffling closer to Master to hear him better as he recited one of the Shambali’s foundational poems. Genji was content to passively listen, enjoying the warmth that Master’s radiant joy exuded. Teaching had always been Master’s passion. 

Shame that their purpose today was ultimately one of violence. 

“Team Everest, check in.”

How unbalanced was he that even Hanzo’s voice was one of comfort? “Sparrow in place. Tranq is with me.”

“Just dropped off the kids,” Torbjörn joined in. “No issues.” Which meant their turret support was ready and waiting.

Efi broke out into raucous laughs and Genji looked over to see Master laughing along with her.

“I do not understand,” Orisa said, more curious than confused. “What is humorous about that statement?”

“--eyes on DJ?”

Genji refocused on the comm. “Say again, Storm?”

I said, does anyone have eyes on DJ? He’s not acknowledging.”

Standing tall, Genji first looked to the raised stage where the Summit council sat. Sure enough, Lúcio was up there, deep in a lively conversation with the Rustwork’s representative. Two seats down, a Vishkar engineer glared at him venomously.

“DJ is in place,” he confirmed. “Too busy making friends to notice his enemies. Vishkar,” he hurriedly added, knowing ‘enemies’ could easily be misinterpreted as Talon.

“Good copy. No activity in the Plaza and all the delegates have arrived,” Hanzo said. “Most likely time for initiation is the meal break, but do not rule out the commencement ceremony.”

At that moment, the ten-minute bell rang through the large room, prompting attendees to find their seats. Genji grimaced. “Understood. Ten-minute bell just rang.”

“I’ll inform the others. Storm out.”

Right. Commencement ceremony in ten, Talon attack in fifteen. All according to plan. His eyes fell to Master’s newest students and frowned. The problem with plans is that everything looks cleaner on paper.

“We have to say goodbye to Master Zenyatta now,” Efi said, offering a hand to help Orisa stand-- a polite gesture only, since he doubted a 12-year-old girl could provide much balance to a multi-ton omnic centaur.

“What?” Orisa’s LED eyes shuttered in distress. “But I want to know what happens next! Does Tripiteka save the omnic family? Master Zenyatta, I must know!”

Master’s necklace of orbs spun in a distinctly pleased pattern. “Peace, Orisa,” Master said gently. “There is much more to the story than we have time today.”

Orisa clanked her metal hands together anxiously. “But how will we learn it? There are no Shambali temples in Numbani.”

“Perhaps not physically,” Master agreed, “but you can still contact the Shambali. Many of my Shambali siblings are tasked with educating inquisitive minds from afar.”

“What about you?” Efi asked, craning her neck up to better see Master. “I like your story telling! If we ask for you, could you tell us the rest?”

Master hesitated. “I have not been tasked with that level of education in a very long time.”

Orisa and Efi bowed their heads, muttering their disappointed understandings. Behind his faceplate, Genji grinned, knowing _exactly_ what was about to happen.

“Well,” Master drew out. “I suppose I can make an exception for two bright minds. You’ve been such excellent listeners, after all!”

Efi leapt in place, cheering exuberantly while Orisa clapped her hands. “Thank you so much, Master Zenyatta!”

“I must encourage you to call the Temple when I am not available,” Master warned them gently. “As I have many duties these days.”

“We will, Master Zenyatta,” Orisa said, as solemn as if she were swearing her life.

...Which prompted an idea in Genji’s mind. “It was wonderful meeting you,” he said, dipping into a small goodbye bow. “Remember that the light of the Iris casts long shadows. Stay safe and protect each other.” That was suitably cryptic, right? Shouldn’t give them away but still act as a warning.

Efi could certainly tell he meant more than he said, if that shrewd look was anything to go by. Orisa, though, was not so perceptive. “Efi’s safety is my primary concern!”

The five-minute warning rang.

“Thank you for everything!” Efi said, bowing and waving her arm at Orisa until she joined the bow. “Nice to meet you, Genji and Master Zenyatta!” Then she was off, darting through the crowd as Orisa attempted to lumber after her.

⟪Such charming children,⟫ Master said indulgently.

Genji shrugged, not really wanting to think about it too much. ⟪Sure. We really should get to our seats, though, Master.⟫

The hardest part was getting through the crowd and to the stage, but luckily most people were preoccupied with finding their own seats so they weren’t stopped for conversation. Genji guided Master to his seat at the table with the other representatives before retreating to the second row towards the back of the stage where the other assistants were. He cast a critical eye over the council, but only a few were demonstrably armed. LumériCo Energy’s assistant had a pistol poorly concealed in his suit jacket, Vishkar Corporation’s engineer had a rare prosthetic designed for spontaneously printing hard-light materials, and Volskaya Industries’ bodyguard was so extraordinarily muscular that Genji felt only marginally more worried about the canon-sized gun she carried than her enviable biceps.

Of course, there was his own team as well. Lúcio stood at the main table, the backpack that carried his sound system at his feet. Torbjörn stood at the opposite end, cooly ignoring both the disgusted and admiring looks shot his way. It seemed word of Ironclad Guild’s defection to the pro-omnic side had spread quickly. Master wasn’t armed, strictly speaking, but he knew from personal experience that the cast-metal mala beads he wore were perfectly capable of inducing concussions.

The last fwe minutes ticked by achingly slow and he counted every single second until the host finally, _finally_ took the podium.

“Commencement ceremony is beginning,” he breathed into his comm. Opportunity two for Talon.

“Good morning and welcome to the sixth annual Omnic Rights Summit!” The man greeted, smoothing down his polyester tie. “I am Erasto Kayd, your host for this year’s Summit. Before commencing with our opening panel, I would like to invite Imam Covington and Master Zenyatta to lead the invocation.”

Master rose from his chair and strode to the podium. Genji distractedly eyed the way his robes floated along the ground. That ethereal floating quality to his walk looked suspiciously like self-propulsion tech. And he admonished Genji for dramatics!

Master shook hands with the Imam, who smiled in return before speaking into the microphone. “Please pray in your tradition as I pray in mine,” he invited. Many attendees bowed their heads, while others closed their eyes. Genji did neither, keeping his head up and eyes open, alert for any possible sign of danger. Waiting was the worst part of any and every mission. If something terrible must happen, let it happen _soon_ so he could act.

The prayer was short and parroted the usual ‘peace in our time’ rhetoric that it always did. At least the Imam put conviction behind his words. Last year’s Archbishop took no pains to disguise his feelings on the purpose for the summit.

After they concluded the prayer, Master and the Imam shook each others’ hands with happy expressions illuminated by the flash of press cameras. The host, Kayd, took the stand again as Master returned to his seat. Still nothing unusual. Perhaps Talon would wait longer for their opening play? After all, many protesters leave the plaza after the opening ceremonies, only to return--

Lights flickered, shortly followed by a chest-rumbling boom, and the room plunged into darkness. Silence struck the delegates only briefly, anxious muttering quickly replacing it. He enhanced the light sensitivity in his visor and observed that while there was considerable fidgeting, no one in the hall had moved from their seats. At least internal to the Summit, Talon had not made its move, but there was no mistake about the situation.

It had begun.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Sparks sizzled through the air, arcing a path from the smoking transformer. Far below Hanzo, the crowd roiled anxiously.

“We heard a boom,” Winston said anxiously over comms.

“A transformer,” Hanzo answered. “It is unclear what caused it to explode. The protesters are wary.”

“I ain’t one to point fingers,” McCree drawled. “But anyone seen Soldier? He’s got a history with premature firin’ and transformers.”

“Fuck off, Tombstone,” Soldier bit back.

“Clear comms,” Hanzo snapped. “Sparrow, what is the reaction in the Summit?”

No response.

“Sparrow?”

Only dead air.

Hanzo swallowed past the constriction in his throat. “Tesla, I’ve lost contact with Sparrow.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Genji tapped on his comm for the third time to no avail. Looking around, he could see others tapping at phones and headsets. A total blackout, then. Not a good sign.

“Friends of the Summit, please remain seated,” Kayd shouted from the podium, the microphone no longer working. “Our technicians have investigated the outage and discovered an issue with a nearby transformer. We have contacted the appropriate services and in the meantime we are setting up our generators. I expect we’ll have lights within the next five minutes, but until then please remain where you are. Wouldn’t want to trip in the dark, now, would we?” He chuckled a little nervously. The crowd laughed along at the weak joke.

The council members, however, were not so kind.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous,” the LumériCo representative, Hidalgo, hissed. “Not even ten minutes and there are problems.”

“No need for such anger,” Master admonished his neighbor. “I’m sure our host is working solutions as we speak.”

“You would never experience a blackout in a Vishkar settlement,” the Vishkar engineer sniffed. “So uncivilized.”

“Wouldn’t experience freedom, either,” Lúcio muttered darkly.

The woman bristled. “You presume--”

“I presume nothing, Vaswani,” he snapped. Genji took a moment to appreciate that the Babrick could translate tone so well. “Rio will _never_ forget what you did to us. Or forgive you.”

“No need to bring up old grudges,” Torbjörn said. “I think we’re here to discuss the suffering of omnics today, not cities.”

“You are one to speak,” the Volskaya bodyguard said with a thick Russian accent. “The suffering of my people rests heavily on your shoulders, Lindholm.”

Her delegate, President Volskaya herself, turned in her seat. “That is quite enough, Zarya. We need not debase ourselves conversing with a traitor.”

“A traitor, am I?” Torbjörn asked with narrowed eyes. “I’d hate to think what that’d make you.”

“Katya is a _hero_,” Zarya said. “What she builds protects us and we protect what she builds in turn.”

“Oh?” Torbjörn leered. “I suppose that’s why Russia is mobilizing rapid response units to your omniums. To protect Russia from your protectors.”

Zarya stood, towering over everyone still sitting. Genji quickly slid shuriken from his wrist, cursing Torbjörn’s unrepentant ability to start fights. He had a clear angle to Zarya’s throat if she advanced, no matter if his teammate deserved a beating. Fortunately, Volskaya diffused the tension with a lazy wave of her hand. Zarya obediently seated herself, though she still looked furious, and Genji put away his shuriken.

“Baseless accusations,” Volskaya dismissed. “Mere propaganda that envious nations concoct in hopes of making our nation seem weak. A futile endeavor, I can assure you.”

Hidalgo laughed cruelly. “_Your_ nation? _Dios mio_, you don’t even pretend your puppet government has power, do you?”

Vaswani looked him up and down pointedly. “Better than having common criminals running your city.”

“Oh, there’s nothing common about us,” Hidalgo sneers, unbuttoning his collar and pulling it down to show the barest hints of a glowing tattoo. “Or criminal, for that matter.”

“Sure, let’s all brag about how corrupt our governments are,” Lúcio said sarcastically. “Maybe we can talk about our favorite forms of oppression next.”

Genji leaned forward to speak quietly to Master. ⟪Should you not intervene? We are meant to keep the civilians calm.⟫

⟪Why,⟫ Master began, putting a hand against his chest. ⟪I would _never _accuse these charming individuals as anything other than calm, my student.⟫ 

He was beginning to see the error of sending three extremely opinionated delegates to keep the peace at a polarizing summit.

Finally, the light returned to the room, temporarily blinding him until his visor could adjust. A few people in the crowd applauded, but their relief was short-lived. A sharp _pop _rang through the hall and while many heads turned to find the source, but Genji didn’t need to. He recognized the gunshot for what it was immediately.

And he knew it was in the Plaza.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jesse was too far away to stop it. There were too many bodies between him and the police line. If he hadn’t been looking towards the Summit doors, worrying over Genji’s dead comms, he wouldn’t have even noticed.

But he did.

It started with a glint, metal refracting the lights from press cameras. An officer in the line surreptitiously unholstering a pistol, keeping the movement low and slow, eyes not leaving the crowd. Jesse didn’t have a clear angle, the crowd was too dense. He shot his hand up to his comm to warn Hanzo, hoping he could stop the violence before it began, but everything was moving too slow, _he_ was too slow. The officer’s arm extended, pistol levelled at the crowd.

It almost felt like he was watching a video at .5 speed, like everything he was seeing and doing was happening to someone else. He marked the moments passing by the rhythmic rush of blood in his ears, eyes locked on the Talon agent in an officer’s uniform.

His comm clicked. “Han--”

The officer fired.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Genji wasn’t the only one to realize what was happening.

Kayd looked about nervously, his professional demeanor clearly rattled. “Er, sorry about that. We, um, we’re having our security check it out. I’m-- I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” He smiled weakly.

“I agree.”

Almost as one, the convention turned to face the newest arrival. A man stood in the doorway-- tall, broadly-muscled, and smiling charismatically. His dark skin contrasted spectacularly with his well-fitted white linen suit, it’s richness evident even a hundred meters away. The man lifted his oversized right arm-- a cybermechanical arm the size of Genji’s entire body-- and held up a clearly dead security guard. 

“There is no need to worry,” he continued in warm, reassuring tones. “Either you survive or…” He released his hold and the body limply collapsed onto the floor. “You were not fit to live in the first place.”

Several people screamed.

“Oh, _Iris_,” Master whispered.

Even if he didn’t know his face from wanted photos, the augmented arm made it distressingly clear that Akande Ogundimu was at the Summit _in person_. They had known Talon’s leader would want to be involved with this operation, but they thought he’d be leading the offense-- were they wrong? Was the main offensive against the Summit instead of the Plaza? Iris, it would be a massacre…

Genji crouched and armed his shuriken, rapidly calculating his best chances for survival. Mid-range fights were his strength, not close quarters. He’d have to keep his distance from him. His mechanical arm was especially dangerous. There’s a reason that Ogundimu took the mantle of--

“Doomfist!” Heavy mechanical footsteps echoed in the tense air. Orisa marched resolutely forward, despite the small child trying to pull back on one of her hind legs. A cold sweat broke out on Genji’s back.

“Orisa!” Efi shouted. “No!”

Orisa put her fists on her hips, staring down Ogundimu. “For your crimes in Numbani, I will bring you to justice.”

Ogundimu laughed again, the rich tones in stark contrast with the madness of his eyes. “Oh, I like you. Unfortunately, I do not have time to play today.” He turned his focus to the stage. “Volskaya. It is time for us to depart.” Genji turned to see the Russian billionaire staring at Doomfist with wide, fearful eyes, frozen in her seat, with none of the cool grace from earlier.

Orisa repositioned herself so that she stood between Ogundimu and the dais, one of her arms reconfiguring to a turret. “You are advised to cease your resistance!” Genji edged forward, trying to get closer without drawing Ogundimu’s attention.

Efi was openly sobbing now, desperately pulling at the multi-ton omnic. “Orisa, you cannot do this! He has defeated you before!”

“I have learned from my memory analysis,” Orisa insisted. Genji was almost even with the main table now.

Ogundimu lit up. “You are one of the defense units that attempted to apprehend me at Numbani? How delightful!” His eyes evaluated Efi, clearly entertained. “I hope the girl gave you more than a new coat of paint.”

“You may be surprised! I have received a number of upgrades since that battle.”

His eyes glittered. “I do _so_ enjoy a challenge.”

He’s at the edge of the stage, now, one explosive leap away from interfering-- but someone else beat him to it. A purple bubble-shield burst to life around Efi and Orisa. Zarya promptly shoved past them, thrusting out her chin. “You will not harm this child or her omnic.” She hefted up the cannon Genji had spied earlier, the high-pitched whine of coalescing energy growing louder by the second. “Leave now,” she demanded.

Ogundimu laughed. “And they say chivalry is dead.” He beckoned them with a hand. “Bring your bodyguard if you must, Volskaya.”

Zarya hesitated, looking back at Volskaya blanched considerably before nodding shakily and rising from her seat at the panel. She made her way through the deathly silent crowd until she met with her bodyguard, who whispered to her in strained tones.

“You are testing my patience,” Doomfist warned.

Genji shifted on his feet. It wasn’t wise to begin a confrontation here-- there were too many civilians, not enough space, and Efi was no longer in danger-- but allowing Ogundimu to simply _leave_ without any real resistance seemed equally short-sighted.

⟪Master,⟫ he whispered lowly, ⟪I will follow him when he leaves. Will you be able to handle the situation here?⟫

Master gave him a side-long glance. ⟪If you leave, our only offensive capability will be Torbjörn.⟫

Across the room, Zarya frowned deeply, but inclined her head in deference. Volskaya moved past her to properly greet Ogundimu.

⟪If I _don’t _leave, Talon will continue to act with impunity,⟫ he hissed. ⟪We have no comms. I can’t ask Winston to send a team after Ogundimu, but I can ask him to reinforce the Summit once I am outside.⟫ ⟪You assume that the comm outage is restricted to the Summit.⟫

Ogundimu offered his natural arm to her and Volskaya reluctantly took it. The decision point was _rapidly_ approaching.

⟪It is a necessary assumption. Talon will need to communicate to their own forces.⟫

Master hummed uneasily. ⟪With Lúcio’s technology, I believe we can keep the crowd calm. I question whether we are safe here if Ogundimu is evacuating an ally.⟫

⟪Talon is here. No one is safe.⟫

They were leaving now, through the side door Ogundimu had entered. The hall burst into noise the second the door shut behind the trio, hysteric shouts and cries building into a cacophony.

⟪_Master_.⟫

Master hesitated one last time. ⟪Go,⟫ he finally said.

Genji turned and _ran_, completely missing Master’s last words.

⟪Iris guide you.⟫


End file.
